


When Tony Met Gibbs

by Ytteb



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 85,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: Different scenarios in which Tony could have met Gibbs - probably all very AU.  Each chapter will be complete in itself.  The genres will probably vary too.  I had another idea ... and so chapter 28 was born!





	1. Chapter 1

Loveland Mercy Hospital in Ohio was usually noted for its calm and peaceful atmosphere.  It was a place which made most people feel better just for walking through the door.  Until the day that NCIS came to town.  Correction, the day Leroy Jethro Gibbs came to town.

“Mr Gibbs,” said the doctor as he pulled open the curtains to the agent’s cubicle.

“ _Agent_ Gibbs,” corrected one of the other people in the cubicle.

“ _Special_ Agent Gibbs,” added another even more nervously.

“Special Agent Gibbs,” said the doctor amiably, “I …”

“Just get on with it,” said Gibbs tersely, “We don’t have all day.”

The doctor continued to smile in a way that Gibbs’ co-workers thought was foolhardy in the extreme.  They began to wonder where the next nearest hospital was in case Gibbs murdered this hospital’s only available doctor.

“I’m Dr DiNozzo,” said the doctor blithely.  “You’ve cut your leg.”

“I know,” said Gibbs.  “Stitch it up!  Now!”

“I’ve heard about you, Mr Gibbs,” said Dr DiNozzo.  “The whole hospital has heard about you.”

“Do I look as if I care?” demanded Gibbs.  “Stitch me up and we’ll be on our way.”

“You made Lucy on reception cry,” said DiNozzo with a slight diminution of cheerfulness.

“She’s meant to get people through.  Not hold them up,” groused Gibbs.

“And you made Nurse Amelia cry,” said the doctor.

“So?”

“You really don’t care that you made Lucy and Amelia cry?”

“Look, I’ve got important work to do,” said Gibbs.  “We’re in a hurry.”

“We’ve all got important work to do,” said DiNozzo with a return to affability.  “Here at Loveland Mercy we try to live up to our name.”

A strange look washed over Gibbs’ face.  The doctor thought it might be pain or possibly remorse.  The co-workers thought it was probably nausea at the thought of a place driven by love and mercy.

“We’re nice people here,” continued DiNozzo.  “Most of the time.”  Somehow those last four words held a hint of menace.

“Look, Doc,” said Gibbs in an attempt at appeasement, “I’m sure this is a great place.  We just need to be out of here.”

“Sure,” said DiNozzo.  “How did this happen?”

“What does it matter _how_ it happened?” asked Gibbs losing his fragile hold on patience, “It happened.”

“Was it caused by a blow to the leg.  A fall?  An attack?”

Gibbs sighed theatrically, “I fell.  I was chasing a suspect and I tripped over.  On to a piece of metal.”

“A sharp piece of metal,” observed DiNozzo as he peered at the injury.

“Well, duh,” said Gibbs.

“Did either of you get a look at the piece of metal?” asked DiNozzo turning to the two male agents who exchanged nervous looks with Gibbs. 

“Go on,” ordered Gibbs.

“Yes?” said Tony.

The younger of the two said, “I didn’t get a good look at it.  But Agent Gibbs went down heavily,” he looked apologetically at Gibbs, “Sorry, Boss.  I mean, not sorry.  Sorry.”

“Thank you, Agent … I mean, Special Agent?”

“McGee.  Timothy McGee.”

“And you,” said Tony turning to the other one, “Did you see anything more?”

“Like Tim said, Boss went down heavily.  Looked like a piece of scrap metal to me.  It was in a lane leading to a farm.”

“Thank you … Special Agent …?”

“Pitt.  Brad Pitt.”

“Agent Pitt, that’s helpful.  Wait a minute, did you say _Pitt_?”

Gibbs and McGee sighed in unison: they were all too accustomed to the reaction to Brad’s name.  Part of Brad was surprised he’d been let on to the team; the other part thought that Gibbs hadn’t known there was another, more famous, Brad Pitt out there.

“He’s not a movie star,” said Gibbs resignedly.

“And he hasn’t got two jobs,” said McGee in what was obviously a well-worn response.

DiNozzo looked puzzled, “Why would he?  No, but it’s weird,” he looked more concentratedly at Brad and pointed to himself, “DiNozzo.  Ohio State.  Anthony DiNozzo.”

Brad stared at the doctor, “DiNozzo!  Tony DiNozzo?  I don’t believe it.  Is it really you?”

“The very same,” said Tony.  He held out his hand and Brad shook it enthusiastically.

“I don’t believe it,” said Brad again.

Gibbs groaned and lay back on his pillows, “We guessed that.  What don’t you believe?”

“I broke his leg,” said Brad.

Gibbs brightened momentarily, “I’m beginning to see why,” he said.

Something like a scowl crossed Tony’s friendly face.  “I was a Buckeye, Pitt was a Wolverine,” he said.  “It was a game.”

“So,” said Brad, “You’re a doctor.”

A loud sigh sounded from Gibbs’ bed, “Can see why you became a NCIS special agent, Pitt.  Those investigative skills are top-notch.”

Tony ignored him, “Yeah.  Graduated from Ohio State.  Somehow stuck around in Ohio.  Came to Loveland a few years back.  It’s a great place.  Nice people … mostly.  What about you?”

“Oh, you know,” said Brad.  “Went into the Navy.  Came out a couple of years ago and joined NCIS.”

“You enjoy it?” asked Tony with a justifiable hint of scepticism.

“Well,” began Brad.

“Er, guys,” said McGee nervously, “I think you should postpone the reunion …”  He jerked his head towards a Gibbs who seemed to be reaching boiling point.

Tony smiled brightly and turned back to Gibbs.  McGee didn’t rate his gut as highly as Gibbs’ but he wasn’t sure he’d want to be in Gibbs’ slightly blood-spattered shoes at that moment.

“I need to look at your leg,” Tony announced.  “You probably need an X-ray to make sure it’s not broken.”

“It isn’t,” stated Gibbs.

“And to make sure there’s nothing trapped in the wound,” continued Tony.

“There isn’t,” said Gibbs.

“Huh.  I didn’t realise,” said Tony.

“Realise what?”

“That NCIS agents come equipped with X-ray vision.”

“They don’t,” said McGee.

“Look, Doc,” said Gibbs with another attempt at politeness, “Why don’t you just stitch it up.  I promise that I’ll get it checked out properly when we get back to …”

“I do hope you weren’t about to say _civilisation_ ,” said Tony.

“To DC,” said Gibbs.  “To DC.”

“Good choice,” said Tony.  He stared at Gibbs, “OK, I’ll go get the gear.  Wait here.”

Gibbs laid back on his pillows once more and sighed.  The battle with hospital bureaucrats had taken it out of him.  It didn’t occur to him that pain and loss of blood might be contributing to a feeling of fatigue.

Tony was soon back, wheeling a cart with some instruments on it.  He swept the cover off and McGee recoiled.

“Jeez, McGee,” grumbled Gibbs, “If you can’t stand the sight of medical instruments you’d better step outside.  Don’t want any more casualties.”

“But …” began McGee.

“In fact, both of you should go,” said Tony, “I don’t want an audience.”

Pitt and McGee both took an appalled look at the instruments, another look at their Boss and then beat a retreat.

“You’re in luck, _Special_ Agent Gibbs,” said Tony.

“I am?” said Gibbs doubtfully.

Tony held up a long, and blood stained suture needle, “Yep.  I’d just finished stitching up Gordon Willis before I came in to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.  He’d been cleaning out his septic tank and fell in.”

“He all right?” asked Gibbs looking with fascination as a drop of blood dripped from the needle.

“He’ll be OK.  Now, as you’re in such a hurry I thought I’d just use the same instruments.  No point in wasting time in sterilising them.”

Tony and Gibbs stared at one another.

“No,” agreed Gibbs, waiting for Tony to blink.

“Good,” said Tony.  He began to thread the needle.

“You don’t wear gloves?” asked Gibbs.

“Oh,” said Tony in surprise, “I do normally.  But my hands are clean,” he paused to think, scratched his head vigorously and then said, “Yeah, they’re fine.  I washed them before I worked on Gordon.  They’ll be fine.”

“OK,” said Gibbs.

“Unless,” said Tony thoughtfully, “I guess your leg might not be too clean.  I wouldn’t want to catch anything.  You’re right, I’ll put gloves on.”

“You’re not going to clean my leg?”

“Seems a waste of time,” said Tony, peering at it a little closer, “As you’re going to be getting it checked later.  I don’t know, though.  There are some bits of dirt in there.  You sure you got time for me to clean it out?  It’ll take a few minutes.”

“Go on,” said Gibbs grimly.

“I think that’s a good idea,” said Tony warmly.  “I’ll just get the big bits out.  The rest will probably be OK.”  He put his gloves on and picked up a blood stained cotton square, “We’re on a tight budget,” he explained, “Don’t worry, I’ll try just to use the clean part.”

Gibbs nodded.

Tony reached towards the leg but then stopped, “Hey,” he said, “Stupid question, but do you want an injection for the pain?  No, like I said, a stupid question.  You’re not going to jump when I stick the needle in, you’ll be fine.”

“Go on,” said Gibbs clenching his fist.  Tony wasn’t sure if it was against the pain or in preparation for punching his doctor.

“Good man,” praised Tony.  “You know,” he went on conversationally, “My professor never thought I was much good at suturing.  But I think I’m OK, just very slow … very, very slow.  I take a while doing it.  And sometimes, if the patient jumps, well … I have to take out the sutures and start again.  But, don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

“Get on with it,” said Gibbs whose knuckles were showing white.

“Of course,” said Tony, “We could go the real old fashioned route.  You know, give you a slug of whisky and then pour the rest over the wound.  Do you like movies?”

“What?” asked Gibbs confused at the change of subject.

“I do.  I think it was watching the old movies that made me want to go into medicine.  Why, you ask?”

Gibbs shook his head in disbelief.  He had no wish to know why this lunatic had wanted to become a doctor.

Tony continued in apparent oblivion, “It was seeing bullets being taken out in the old Westerns.  You know the sort of thing, sterilising the knife over a lighted candle.  Holding people down as the doc dug around.  Makes me wish I’d been born a hundred years ago, maybe two hundred.”

Gibbs began to share that wish.

“I could go get a candle,” said Tony.  He made for the door but then turned back, “But you’re in a rush.  And we shouldn’t really have naked flames down here.  Not with all the oxygen cylinders around,” he sighed regretfully.  He held the soiled swab up and Gibbs noticed that his hand shook slightly.  The swab hovered over the wound for a second and then Tony spoke again, “You know, technically, you should have a tetanus injection … there’s some nasty looking stuff floating around here.  But hey, it’ll probably be OK.  And you’ve got another leg.  Did you know that Nature builds in redundancies?  Although you probably need two legs to be a _Special_ Agent.  What you think?  I can do injections real quick.  You know the saying, a jab on the hips means your leg’s your friend for life.  Well, I don’t think it’s an _actual_ saying and it could probably do with some work … but you’ve got the idea.”  He smiled somewhat vacantly as if he was trying the words out in his head.

“Gimme the damn injection,” growled Gibbs.

“You sure?” said Tony in surprise.  “Which one?  The one for the pain or the one for the bugs?  Or, strictly speaking, _against_ the bugs.”

“Both of them,” said Gibbs.

“Both of them?” said Tony.  “Well, if you’re sure.”  And before Gibbs could change his mind, Tony had swabbed the injection site clean and administered the first injection.

NCISNCIS

Two hours later Gibbs emerged from a deep sleep.

“Boss?” said McGee.

“You all right?” asked Pitt.

“What?” said Gibbs groggily, “What happened?” he looked around in bemusement at his hospital room.

“I might have misjudged the painkiller dose,” said Dr DiNozzo as he walked into the room.  “No sooner had I injected you that you went out for the count.  Still, on the bright side, it gave me time to get an X-ray done on that leg, to get the wound cleaned out thoroughly and stitched up beautifully.”

Gibbs glared at the cheerful doctor but decided to cut his losses, “And what about the leg?”

“Still attached,” said Tony jovially, “Hanging in there,” He wiped the smile off his face and said, “No fracture … as you thought.  Multiple small fragments of metal and rust … not as you thought.  But it should be fine, give you years of faithful service but I recommend you see your regular practitioner for advice on follow up treatment.”

“And I can go?” asked Gibbs.

“Of course,” said Tony.  He paused expectantly as if waiting for a thank you.

“Thank you, Dr DiNozzo,” said McGee, “And thank you for the stories about Brad at Michigan,” he added meaningfully.

“Thank you, Tony,” said Brad, “And Gibbs is thankful underneath.  Really.”

Tony was about to open his mouth in reply when Gibbs bellowed from the door, “Move it!”

“He does mean it really,” said Pitt.

“Oh, Agent Gibbs,” called Tony.  There was something in the tone of voice which made Gibbs turn back – he saw Tony holding a needle.  “I didn’t get around to giving you your tetanus jab.”  Gibbs made a dash for the door but inexplicably Tim and Brad were in the way and Tony once more proved his skill and speed at injections.

“No need to thank me, Agent Gibbs,” said Tony pleasantly, “It was a pleasure.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember I said these stories are AU …

Tony DiNozzo shifted restlessly in his bed and his eyes fluttered open.  They promptly shut once more but, with a groan from their owner, opened again.  Tony looked around the functional, clinical room and sighed as the memory of the chase down the alley returned along with … well, he couldn’t remember but somehow thought that the abrupt ending to the memory along with waking up in what looked like a hospital room suggested the chase hadn’t ended well.

“Great,” he muttered.  He had only been accepted on to the Peoria police force when someone else dropped out.  For some reason the interviewing officer hadn’t thought Tony was serious about wanting to be a police officer.  Tony coming to grief during his first week on patrol would not go down well.  He groaned again and then noticed a figure dressed in green standing by the door.  “Hey,” he called, “What happened?”

“Least you didn’t ask where you are,” came a slightly amused reply.

Tony frowned as he considered this, “I’m in a hospital … in Peoria,” he said.

“Which one?”

Tony frowned again, “Hey, I’ve only just moved here.  I haven’t learned all the hospital names yet.”  Even as he said this he wondered whether, knowing his luck, he should have scoped them all out as a priority.

“Fair enough.”

Silence fell.  Tony hated silence and, although part of him thought that the hospital worker should be taking the initiative, he spoke first, “When can I get out of here?”

“Don’t know.”

“You’re not a doctor?”

“No.”

“A nurse?”

“No.”

“But you do work here?”

His companion thought about this, “I am today.”

Tony shifted uneasily as he wondered if this hospital had a psychiatric wing from which this green robed man might have strayed.  He looked to see if there was a call button within reach but the room was dimly lit and he couldn’t see well enough.  Despite the presence of a stranger in his room, Tony didn’t feel worried – perhaps because the man had a head of white hair which suggested he was some years older than Tony.

“Who are you?” asked Tony.  If in doubt Tony always took the conversational route.  The interviewing officer might not have appreciated his volubility but it was too much a part of Tony to be easily discarded.  Besides, if he kept talking someone might come along and escort the lunatic back to his quarters.  Tony thought that _lunatic_ was probably not an acceptable word for someone with mental health issues but he was feeling weary and too much out of it to locate the right word.

“Jethro,” came the answer after a short pause.

“Wow.  That’s a bummer,” said Tony before he could stop himself.  “Oops,” he said as his brain caught up with his mouth.  “I mean, not sorry.  It’s a great name.  Well, not for me but you probably like it.  Sorry, I think I’m on drugs – they make me loopy.  I mean, I’m not on _drugs …_ the Peoria police department frown on that sort of thing.  I’ve probably been given some medication … and like I say, I get …”

“Loopy,” said Jethro.  “That’s OK.  My first name is Leroy.”

“Oh,” said Tony in a tone of voice which held a world of compassion.  “Did you get teased much?”

“Some,” said Jethro.

“Still, it builds character … I guess,” said Tony doubtfully.  “My name’s Tony.  Well, Anthony but most people call me Tony.  Tony DiNozzo.  Big D, little I, big N, little ozzo,” he seemed to think that needed an explanation, “I have to spell it for people – a lot.”

“And they know how to spell ozzo?”

“Good point, I may have to work on that.  Might explain why people write to me as DiN _ouzo_.  And that’s not on because I’m Italian, not Greek.  Well, not all Italian.  My Mom was British.  So that makes me …” Tony’s voice drifted to a halt as he tried to do the mathematics.  “Where was I?” he asked.

“Beats me,” said Jethro.

“And me,” said Tony.  “How long have I been here?”

“Don’t know.  I wasn’t around then.”

“How do you know?”

“What?”

“How do you know that you weren’t around when I came here if you don’t know when I came?”

A baffled silence fell which was only interrupted by the arrival of a nurse who was delighted to see that Tony was awake and, despite a tendency for his attention to wander, seemingly in reasonable health for someone who had been knocked out by a body builder on steroids.

“I’ll tell Dr Gillespie you’re awake,” she said after checking Tony’s temperature, pulse and oxygen levels.  “Can I get you anything?”

Tony was about to say yes but noticed Jethro silently shaking his head.  Tony was pretty sure that his police manual had something to say about the appropriate action to take when injured and alone with a potentially insane stranger and somehow he didn’t think it involved passing up on an opportunity to escape.  Even as he turned down the nurse’s offer he wondered if he was developing Stockholm Syndrome.  No, he reassured himself, he was a quick study but even he would take longer than ten minutes to become attached to his kidnapper.

“Who are you?” asked Tony when he was once more alone with Jethro.

“Jethro.  I told you.”

“You know what I mean,” said Tony pettishly.  “And could you come a bit closer.  I’ve got a headache and I can’t see too well.”  Jethro drew closer.  “And sit down,” said Tony crossly, “I don’t want you towering over me like that.”

“I could go,” said Jethro.  “Come back later.”

“No,” said Tony, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be irritable.  Stay,” he added, realising that he meant it.

“OK,” said Jethro lowering himself to the bedside chair.

“And?” asked Tony.

“And what?”

“And who are you?  Apart from being Jethro,” added Tony hastily.

Tony hadn’t known Jethro for even 30 minutes but somehow already thought of him as being poised, calm and confident so it was a surprise to see him look uneasy.  Tony stared at him in fascination and waited for the reply.

“Well … I … well, I suppose you could say … I’m your guardian angel.”

Tony sank back even deeper into his pillows and tried to come up with a response.  His first instinct was to think that the drugs he was on were making him even weirder than usual.  The second instinct, which followed closely behind, was that Jethro really had escaped from the psych ward.  The third instinct, however, and the one that persisted, was that Jethro was telling the truth.  It didn’t stop his words coming out with a squeak, “Guardian angel?  Me?  You?”

“Pretty much,” shrugged Jethro.  “Hey, it came as a surprise to me too.”

Tony grinned.  Somehow it seemed par for the DiNozzo course that he should have a reluctant guardian angel.  “Go on,” he said, “Explain.”

“They didn’t know what else to do with me,” said Jethro.

“Excuse me?”

“I haven’t been … you know, dead, for long.  And …”

“And?”

“And I wasn’t settling in too well.  You know, I didn’t like choir practice.  Didn’t want to go into record keeping.  Didn’t too well on weighing rights and wrongs – too many lawyers working in that department.”

“You had to work?” asked Tony as this new vision of heaven was revealed to him, “No rest and enjoyment.”

“Oh sure,” said Jethro, “If that’s what you want.  But I’m not good at doing nothing.”

“But the devil doesn’t find work for idle hands in heaven, does he … she?” asked Tony.  He saw Jethro raise an eyebrow, “The nuns used to say that to me.  A lot.”

“No,” said Jethro.  “But they want us to be happy and I wasn’t.  So they came up with this new job.”

“Guardian angel?”

“Yep.  Seems they think that Henry might not have been doing too good a job for you.”

“Henry?  You mean I’ve had a guardian angel?” gasped Tony.

“Yep.”

“All these years?”

“Yep.”

“Wow,” said Tony.  “Does it happen a lot?”

“Does what happen a lot?”

“You know, guardian angels getting stood down?”

“Well,” said Jethro, “I’m not an expert.  Like I said, just starting out but it’s unusual.  I think Henry was kinda relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“He said things hadn’t gone as he’d expected.  Said he was disappointed.”

“My guardian angel was _disappointed_ in me,” said Tony.  “That sucks.”  Jethro nodded sympathetically.  “Story of my life,” said Tony quietly, “Seem to disappoint most people.”

“Henry’s a sports fan,” said Jethro, “He thought you were going to be a football star … or basketball but then …”

“Then I broke my leg and bust my knee and had to give up,” said Tony.  “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t know about Henry.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was miserable enough when it happened but if I’d known my guardian angel was sobbing in the corner … well, it would have been even worse.”

“He should have sucked it up,” said Jethro firmly.

“He should?”

“Course.  Gotta be loyal to your … person.”

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“Is that a rule?”

Jethro thought about this, “Possibly, probably … doesn’t matter … goes with the job.”

“What was your job?” asked Tony, “You know, when you were alive … if you don’t mind telling me.”

“Marine,” said Jethro.

“Ah,” said Tony, “Makes sense.”

“Why?”

“Well, the haircut for one thing.  And then the green.”

“Green?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it suits you.  But you’d have thought an angel would be dressed in white.”

“Oh yeah,” said Jethro as he seemed to look at his clothes for the first time.

“I’m a police officer,” said Tony.  “Or at least I hope I still am.  Is that OK?”

“Good work,” said Jethro approvingly.

Tony smiled, somehow he found he wanted to please his new friend.

“So you won’t mind that?”

“No.”

“Long hours,” said Tony.

“I don’t sleep,” said Jethro.

“No, I guess not.  Might be boring sometimes.”

“Not a problem.  I used to be a sniper, I’m used to waiting.”

“Hey, do you like movies?”

Jethro had already looked at Tony’s records and knew about the movie collection.  “Not a problem,” he assured Tony.

“I got some John Wayne DVDs,” offered Tony.  “And I can find some more that you might like.”

“Good,” said Jethro.

Tony’s eyes began to close as sleep claimed him once more.  “But I’m guessing I won’t know you’re there?”

Jethro said nothing.

“’Cos if I didn’t know Henry was around, I guess I won’t know you’re around either.”

Jethro shook his head.

“Shame.  I think I’d like to know you were there.”

Jethro smiled.

“You are here though?  It’s not the drugs?” said Tony anxiously.

“No.  I’m here,” said Jethro.

“Good to know,” said Tony as his eyes finally closed.

Jethro stood and looked down at his new charge.

“You did well, Jethro,” came another voice.

Jethro was unsurprised to see another angel standing next to him.

“You are sure you are up to the challenge?” said the new arrival.

“Sure,” said Jethro.

“Good.  I think you will be a good match.  And goodness knows, he needs watching over.  Well, you’ve seen what lies ahead.  You have much in common you know: a sense of duty and a sense of honour.  A match made in heaven,” he chuckled.

“I suppose you’re here to tell me that he mustn’t remember what’s happened,” said Jethro.

“I fear so.  It is possible that he would put the encounter down to the effect of the drugs but we can’t take the risk.  I will show you what to do.  Never fear, I will be on hand at the beginning to help you over any difficulties.”

Jethro nodded, “And you are?”

“Donald.  Or you may call me Ducky – that will bring back memories of my earthly life.”

Jethro looked puzzled but even becoming a guardian angel hadn’t made him one for chitchat so he simply nodded, “Ducky.  Show me what to do.”

“Put your hand on the top of his head and think forgetful thoughts,” instructed Ducky.  “Really, Jethro, a light touch was all that was required!  No need for a head slap!”

“I’ll remember,” promised Jethro.

Ducky nodded.  “Call me if you need me.  And no doubt, you will.  Goodbye for the present.”

Jethro continued to watch over the sleeping Tony.  “Semper Fi,” he said before gradually fading away.


	3. Chapter 3

Jethro Gibbs stopped in surprise when he reached the grave and saw a new addition – a simple but elegant wooden bench seat had been placed under the nearby oak tree.  He gazed at it for a moment or two but then turned away to the task in hand.

Gibbs had been away from DC for three weeks for work and, at this time of year, the grave site needed constant attention.  The flowers in the vase had withered, weeds had begun to encroach and the rose bush needed deadheading.  Jethro turned to his work with his customary focus and lost himself in the clearing and tidying for an hour or so before finally sitting back on his heels and looking with satisfaction at his work.

With a grimace from the pain in a stiff knee he stood up and, not ready to leave yet, went and sat on the new bench which he noticed approvingly seemed to have been designed with tall people in mind.  He ran his hand appreciatively over the well sanded arms and decided it had been made by a true craftsman.  He ran his fingers gently across the letters _EPD_ which had been carved on the backrest.   Jethro was never one to sit idly for long and after a few minutes turned his attention to the other graves and once again lost himself in the work.

When he finished the next weeding job he turned around and was surprised to see that a youngish man was sitting on the bench.  Gibbs nodded minutely and the young man beamed back at him.  Gibbs huffed with annoyance: the smile had been the practised smile of someone accustomed to charming people but that sort of thing didn’t work with Gibbs.  He didn’t smile back but moved to another grave and began work there.

Twenty minutes later and Gibbs realised that he still had an audience.  He ran his fingers through his hair with irritation as he felt his privacy was being invaded although he knew it wasn’t reasonable to feel like that.  The young man seemed to sense this,

“Sorry,” he said, “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

Gibbs shrugged, “I don’t own the place,” he said.  “Free country.”

“I know,” acknowledged the other man, “But, still …”

Gibbs nodded.

“You’re making a good job of that,” said the young man.

Gibbs tilted his head slightly as he considered this; somehow he didn’t think his visitor was one for manual work so his opinion wasn’t an informed one.

“You don’t work here, do you?”

Gibbs considered this as well before shaking his head.

“But you’re tidying three graves?”

“They need doing,” said Gibbs.

“I guess,” came the reply.

“How’d you know?” asked Gibbs.

“Know what?”

“That I don’t work here.”

“Oh.  The maintenance people and the gardeners wear a kind of uniform.”

Gibbs nodded.

“And they look different,” the other man continued.

“How so?”

“I don’t know.  You’re focussed, intent … looks like what you’re doing is the most important thing in the world.  And you take your time.  The others have a timetable to keep to, targets to meet … you, not so much.”

Gibbs found himself interested: it was easy to spot he was dressed differently but the intent and focus were less easy to identify.  He gestured towards the seat, “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure,” said the young man easily.  “Like you said, it’s a free country.”

Jethro dusted the seat of his pants and sat down.

“DiNozzo,” said the young man as he extended his hand, “Tony DiNozzo.”

Gibbs decided to ignore the dirt on his own hands and took Tony’s hand in his own.  “Gibbs.  Jethro Gibbs but people call me Gibbs.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes and then Tony noticed Gibbs stroking one arm of the bench,

“So it’s OK?” he asked.

Gibbs seemed to come out of reverie, “What?”

“The bench, is it OK?”

“Yes.  It’s fine.  Well made.”

“Good,” said Tony.

The silence continued for a few more minutes.

“Why do you want to know?” asked Gibbs.

“Know what?”

“If the bench is OK,” said Gibbs.

For a second or two Gibbs thought that Tony was going to give an evasive answer - Tony opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again as if he had changed his mind.

“I put it here,” said Tony.

“Eh?”

“I got someone to make the bench and put it there,” said Tony.

“It’s good,” said Gibbs.  “Simple, elegant.”

He was rewarded by another smile but this one was smaller and, Gibbs felt, not designed to charm – it was probably not surprising that it worked better on Gibbs.  “Good,” said Tony, “That fits.”

“So, _EPD_?” asked Gibbs.

“Elizabeth Paddington DiNozzo.”

“DiNozzo?”

“Yep, my Mom.”

Gibbs sighed in sympathy.  “How long?” he asked.

Tony looked embarrassed, “Twenty-five years.”

Gibbs nodded.  “No time limit on grief,” he said emotionlessly.

“I guess,” said Tony.  “I was eight when she died.  I don’t always know if what I remember is real or made up.”

Gibbs nodded again and felt a lurch in his stomach as he remembered that Kelly had been eight when she died.  He remembered how passionate her joys and sorrows had been at that age, how deeply she had felt about so many things.

“She buried here?” asked Gibbs.

“No.  New York – that’s where we lived when she … when she died.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs neutrally.

“But I wanted somewhere I could remember her,” said Tony.  “Seems stupid, I know.”

“No, it’s not,” said Gibbs, “We can’t help what we need.”

“The heart wants what it wants,” said Tony softly.

“Yeah,” said Gibbs.  He waited a second or two before saying gruffly, “So you live in DC?”

Tony laughed, “No.  I live in Baltimore but somehow I didn’t think Mom would like Baltimore.  DC seems more her type of place.  You know, simplicity and elegance!”

“Baltimore’s not that far,” said Gibbs, “Easy to drive here.”

“Yeah.  Except I may not be living even there much longer,” sighed Tony.  “Should have known better than to put it here.”

“I got some coffee,” said Gibbs.  “You want some?”

“I can’t take your coffee,” said Tony.

“You’re not taking it, I offered it,” said Gibbs. “Besides, I’m sitting on your bench.”

“OK, thanks,” said Tony. 

Gibbs poured Tony a mug of coffee, “It’s strong,” he said when he saw Tony wince as he took a sip.

“It’s fine,” gasped Tony, “Be good practice.”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in surprise but Tony didn’t explain.

“Why here?” he asked Tony.

“Excuse me?”

“Why this particular spot?”

“Oh.  I wanted somewhere quiet.  And it felt peaceful here, cared for,” said Tony.

Gibbs nodded.

“Er, I couldn’t help but notice … the graves all have different names on,” said Tony tentatively.

“Yeah,” said Gibbs.

“But you look after all of them,” said Tony in a puzzled voice.

Gibbs shrugged but didn’t explain.

“Are they all your family?” asked Tony.

“Kinda,” said Gibbs.  “I guess you could say they are now.”

Tony stared at the head stones and then his expression cleared, “I get it,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I think so.  I remember when my Mom died, I used to go to her grave most days … if I could persuade the housekeeper to take me.”

Jethro looked at him sharply, wondering why he needed a housekeeper to take him but deciding not to ask.

“And there were people I got to know.  People who had friends or family who’d been buried there around the same time.  And they used to visit all the time.  And it was good … helpful … because we were all going through the same thing … we had something in common.  I guess we helped each other.”

Jethro nodded in agreement although he felt a wave of pity for the eight-year-old boy who had had to rely on strangers to get him through his grief.  “Yeah,” Gibbs pointed to the grave on the right, “Grace Donovan.  Her husband, Mitch, was here most days.  We’d talk a bit.  As he got older, he couldn’t do so much but he still wanted to come visit.  Got so that I looked after the grave for him.  He’s with her now, died couple years ago.”

Tony nodded.

“And that one was Chris Savage.  Died in a motor cycle accident.  His wife Jeannie had a baby girl.  She came as often as she could but she moved back to California to be with her family after a few years.  I told her I’d look after Chris for her.”

“And?” asked Tony gently as he nodded towards the grave in the middle.

“My wife, Shannon … and our daughter Kelly.  They were shot.  They’re in there together … Shannon wouldn’t have wanted Kelly to be on her own.”

Tony nodded again but didn’t say anything.  He and Gibbs both took another gulp of coffee.

“Why oak?” asked Gibbs as he touched the seat of the bench.

“English Oak,” said Tony, “My Mom was Britlish.  It seemed right.”

“It’ll last well,” said Gibbs, “Won’t need too much looking after if you’re not around much.”

Tony looked at Gibbs and grinned, somehow already suspecting that Gibbs would look after it in the same way he looked after the graves, “You know about wood?” he asked.

“Some,” said Gibbs.

“And I might be around,” said Tony.  “Got some irons in the fire.”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

Tony touched his tie as if in explanation, “Got some interviews,” he said.

Gibbs nodded as he realised there might be a reason Tony had dressed up to come sit in a cemetery.

“What kind of work you after?” he asked.

“I’m a cop,” said Tony.  “Thought about changing to something else but …”

“You should be a cop,” said Gibbs firmly.  It was Tony’s turn to raise an eyebrow in question, “You’re sharp,” said Gibbs.

“What makes you think that?  Not that I’m denying it,” said Tony.

“Worked out about the graves,” said Gibbs, “Spotted I didn’t work here.  Not everyone would do that.  You should stay a cop.”

“Well,” said Tony.

“Don’t waste good,” said Gibbs.

Tony grinned; Gibbs began to realise that he had a whole library of smiles at his disposal.  “Sounds like a rule,” he said.

“A man needs rules,” said Gibbs.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Tony solemnly.  “As it happens I had an interview with Metro PD this morning and I’ve got one with the FBI in an hour or so.”

“Huh!” said Gibbs in something like disapproval.

“It’s my second interview there,” said Tony, “When I went for the first one they gave me a cup of coffee as strong as this one.  Think it was a test.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs again but this time it sounded more amused.  “What’s with the words?” he asked.

“What words?”

For answer, Gibbs pointed to the inscription beneath the initials.

“ _What is this life if, full of care,_

_We have no time to stand and stare?_ ”, said Tony dreamily.  “It’s from a poem.”

“Could have guessed that,” said Gibbs drily.

“It was one of my Mom’s favourite poems.  You remember I said I’m not always sure what I remember about her?”  Gibbs nodded.  “Well, that’s one thing I’m sure of.  She made me learn it by heart.  And it was sort of her motto – _her_ rule, if you will.  Taking time to see the beauty around, not being caught up in doing things all the time.”

“Good idea,” said Gibbs.

“Yeah.  My Dad didn’t agree so much.”

Gibbs looked at Tony and tried to decide whether it was bitterness he could hear behind the words.

“So, I figured they’d be good words to have on her seat.  And I reckon people sitting here are usually taking time out.  Thinking, getting things in perspective.”

“Guess so,” said Gibbs.

Tony sighed, “I’d better be going.  Good to meet you, Gibbs.”

Gibbs nodded.

“Might see you around,” said Tony.

Gibbs nodded, “I’m here a lot,” he agreed.

“Thanks for the coffee,” said Tony.

“You’re welcome,” said Gibbs.

Tony stood up, momentarily rested a hand on the back of the seat and then turned to go.

“Hey!” called Gibbs after him.

Tony turned.

“You should try NCIS,” said Gibbs.

“NCI what?” asked Tony.

“Naval Criminal Investigative Service,” said Gibbs, “They’re hiring.”

“They are?”

“They are,” said Gibbs firmly.  “Here,” and he handed Tony a card.

Tony read the card, “Special agent?”

“Like I said, we’re hiring,” said Gibbs.  “You’ll do.”

Tony grinned at this less than effusive endorsement.  “Good to know,” he said.  He lifted the card in salute and turned away.  Gibbs watched him go and then patted the earth on Shannon and Kelly’s grave.  Somehow he felt the family might just have gained another member.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jethro Gibbs’ return to consciousness began slowly.  As if from a great distance he heard a buzzing which gradually resolved itself into the sound of voices,

_“What do you think?”_

_“I think it is what it seems to be.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“I have just said that I think it is what it seems to be.”_

_“You know how clever they can be.”_

_“Indeed but there is a scar from an appendectomy …”_

_“A what?”_

_“It is an operation to remove the appendix.  May I continue?”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“There’s some deterioration in the knee joints.  And I detect some mended bone fractures.”_

_“Real?”_

_“I believe so.  It would be hard to fake them.”_

_The voices faded away for a moment or two but then returned._

_“I believe our visitor is coming round.”_

Gibbs wasn’t sure about this but took it as a signal to try and open his eyes.  After a few failed attempts he managed to blink them open.  Gibbs wasn’t particularly accident prone but he had seen more than his fair share of hospitals: he was puzzled to realise he didn’t recognise this one as being in DC.  He decided to concentrate instead on the other two occupants of the room, a man about his own age and a younger man he guessed to be around 30 years old.  The younger man began to lower his legs to the ground from the bed he was lying on.

“You’ll stay where you are, Anthony,” said the older man severely.

“Ducky,” came the whining reply, “I’m fine.”

“Then you can be _fine_ from that bed.  You can perfectly well question our visitor from there.”

“Fine,” said Anthony, “Is it OK if I sit up?”

“If you wish,” said Ducky graciously.

Anthony sat up and leaned towards Gibbs, “How you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a two-ton truck,” said Gibbs.

Anthony looked puzzled and glanced across at Ducky who shrugged.  The young man reached into a pocket and drew out something which looked like a cell phone and swiped his fingers across it.  “Ah,” he said, “Yeah.  I guess I know the feeling.”

“You will be fine,” said Ducky, “The after effects will dissipate rapidly, I assure you.”

“Ducky!” said Anthony warningly.

“I apologise,” said Ducky as he backed away.

“What do you remember?” asked Anthony.

“Not much,” said Gibbs, “I was in my cabin, chopping wood … then things went black.  There was some shouting.  Lights flashing.  A bang.  What happened?  Did the axe head come off?”

“No,” said Anthony.  “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Which hospital is this?” asked Gibbs.

“Ah, well … it’s not exactly a hospital,” said Anthony cautiously.

“Clinic then,” said Gibbs.  His head was aching a little and he didn’t want to split hairs.  “I’m guessing it’s not in DC.”

“No,” agreed Anthony.  “Definitely not DC.”

“Is your head troubling you?” asked Ducky observing Gibbs squinting slightly.

“Some,” said Gibbs.

“I should have realised,” said Ducky.  He held something which looked like a probe to Gibbs’ forehead.

“Hey!” said Gibbs in a startled tone and then, “Hey,” again in a gentler voice as he realised that the pain had disappeared.

“Who are you?” asked Anthony.

“Tell me who you are first,” demanded Gibbs.

“I’m Anthony DiNozzo … most people, apart from Ducky here, call me Tony.  And this is Dr Donald Mallard …”

“Known as Ducky for obvious reasons,” Ducky chipped in.

“I’m Gibbs.  Jethro Gibbs.”

“And …” Tony hesitated, “What was the date that you were chopping the wood?”

Gibbs sighed as he realised that perhaps he’d been out of it for some days, “July 12th,” he said.

“And … in which year?” asked Tony.

“Do I have a concussion?” Gibbs asked.  “Do you want me to tell you the name of the President?”

Tony and Ducky both looked puzzled.  “Do you know it?” asked Tony.

“Sure,” said Gibbs, “I keep up with things.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Ducky soothingly, “But, for now, the year of your … wood chopping will be enough.”

“2017.”

“OK,” said Tony.  “I guess it’s a good thing you’re already lying down, Gibbs, Jethro Gibbs.”

“What’s going on?” asked Gibbs.  “Where is this place?  I need to talk to my Director.”

“Your Director?” asked Tony.

“Yes.  The Director of NCIS.  You can’t mess with Federal Agents, you know.”

“I’m sure not,” said Ducky, “However …”

“NCIS?” asked Tony.

“Yes,” said Gibbs brusquely.

“How long have you worked with them?” asked Tony.

“About 25 years.  It was NIS when I joined,” said Gibbs.

Tony laughed and Gibbs gave him a half-hearted glare, “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“This is a NIS ship,” Tony replied.

“Doesn’t feel like a boat,” said Gibbs.  “And NIS doesn’t have ships.”

“They do now,” said Tony. 

“Since when?” asked Gibbs.

Tony shrugged, “Since about 2315.”

“What time is it now?” asked Gibbs.

“What?” asked Tony, “Oh, no, not the _time_ 2315 – the year.”

“What?” said Gibbs.

“The year 2315,” said Ducky helpfully.

“You trying to tell me that this is the year 2315?” demanded Gibbs.

“No, no,” said Ducky.  “NIS have had their own craft for over a hundred years now.”

“We’re in the year 2417,” said Tony.

Gibbs gazed at Ducky and Tony and clenched his fists, “Ha ha,” he managed eventually, “Very funny.  You’ve had your fun, why don’t you just tell me what pills I have to take and I’ll be on my way.”

“I wish that were possible,” said Ducky sadly. “You will, of course, return to your optimum health quite rapidly.  You need have no fear about that but telling you that this is ‘all a joke’ is, I fear, impossible.  Let me explain …”

“Ducky,” said Tony, “Let me …”

“I am perfectly willing …” began Ducky.

“I’ll do it,” said Tony with the first hint of firmness he had shown.  Ducky nodded compliantly and Tony leaned towards Gibbs once more, “I know this is going to be hard for you to understand, Gibbs, Jethro Gibbs …” he began.

“Gibbs, just Gibbs is fine,” said Gibbs.  He then added hastily, “Just call me Gibbs.”

Tony nodded, “Ok, Gibbs.  This is July 29th in 2417.  This is a Naval Investigative Service vessel on patrol … well, I can’t actually tell you where.  Just let me say that we are many light years away from Earth.”

“We’re in space?” asked Gibbs.

Tony looked at his device again and checked something, “I guess you could call it that,” he said.  “I’m the captain of the Lucilla Gomez …”

“Lucilla Gomez?” asked Gibbs.

“Named after the first female president …”

“Good,” said Gibbs, “’Bout time a woman made President.”

“Of the world,” said Tony.

“Oh,” said Gibbs.

“Like I said, I’m the captain.  You’ve met Ducky our doctor.  You will meet the rest of the crew later: Ensign Eleanor Bishop – she’s our science officer and archivist, and Lieutenant James Palmer our navigator.  I’m sure you want to know how you arrived here …”

“You’re on the money there,” said Gibbs sarcastically.

There was the customary hesitation while Tony looked something up.  “Well,” he said, “I can’t tell you exactly how you got here.  We were on a heading to take us back to Earth when we picked up a reading which showed that some sort of craft was in difficulties.  We tracked the source of that reading and found you in the vehicle.”

“Not quite as simple as that,” said Ducky severely, “You risked your life rescuing Gibbs.  The air supply had run out.”

“It was fine, Ducky,” said Tony.  “It was like a training exercise.”

“That may be so,” said Ducky, “But it was less than 24 hours since your heart/lung transplant.”

Gibbs gave an undignified squawk but Ducky and Tony were absorbed in their argument and ignored him.

“Ducky, you know that only a twelve-hour period of rest is recommended,” said Tony, “And it had been fifteen hours.”

“I can still remember,” said Ducky, “When a three-day period of recuperation was stipulated.  And I believe that 24 hours is still a reasonable period to wait.”

“Excuse me,” said Gibbs, “What are you talking about?”

“I was merely explaining that Anthony should have been lying on his bed resting from his operation rather than racing around the universe in perilous conditions.”

Tony seemed to decide to ignore all mention of heart/lung transplants, “We brought you back to the Lucilla and Ducky looked after you.”

Gibbs shook his head, still trying to come to terms with what he was being told.  “So how did I get here?”

“We don’t know.  But you’re not the first.  It seems that there’s a way that some people slip through,” said Tony.  “Although I think you’ve come the furthest.  And the first to be NIS.”

Gibbs decided to humour him, “And what do you do with people like me?”

“Dippers,” said Tony, “We call you dippers.”

“Because you dip through time and space,” said Ducky helpfully.

“We send you back,” said Tony.  “We know how to do that; we just haven’t figured out a way to stop it happening in the first place.”

“I’ve never heard about this,” said Gibbs suspiciously.

“Ah,” said Tony, “Well, we do some …”

“Memory adjustment,” said Ducky, “It wouldn’t do for people to remember what had happened.”

“And that works?” asked Gibbs.

“Sure,” said Tony.  “Ducky’s an expert.”

“How do I know this isn’t some sort of joke, a hoax?” asked Gibbs.

“This is a NIS vessel,” said Tony, “We don’t do jokes.”

Gibbs looked at Tony and thought that might not be true, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“But,” continued Tony, “You could just look out the window.”  He waved a hand and a screen over a window rolled back to reveal a distant view of a planet.  “That’s Persephone 327A,” said Tony.  “Which means that Jimmy has taken us off course again.”

Gibbs was often silent but it was usually out of choice rather than being struck dumb in amazement.

“Shall I perform the necessary memory adjustments now?” asked Ducky, “While you attend to Mr Palmer’s _navigational_ adjustments?”

“Well,” said Tony looking at Gibbs thoughtfully, “I don’t mind if we go the scenic route this time.  I can leave Jimmy to sort it out.  And it would be kinda interesting to learn what it was like to be a NIS … sorry, NCIS agent back in the beginning – it would make Ellie’s day.   And Gibbs here seems to be taking it all calmly.  Perhaps he’d like to stick around?”

NCISNCIS

“What does NIS do?” asked Gibbs.  He had been given a tour of the Lucilla and was now in the mess hall eating the best steak he had had in years.

“What it says on the tin,” said Tony as he swallowed an enormous mouthful of pizza.  “Naval Investigative Service.  The Criminal part got dropped fifty years ago.  We’re more of a scientific body now although we get called on to investigate crime sometimes.”

“Why’d it get dropped?” asked Gibbs.

“Not much crime in the 25th century.  Not much call for it to be investigated.  You know, most dippers, when they get over the panic, either expect us to be living in a Utopia or some kind of apocalyptic nightmare.  Depends on what sort of movies or science fiction they’d read.”

“Not really into that sort of stuff,” said Gibbs.  “Read HG Wells _The Time Machine_ when I was a kid.  Scared the hell out of me.”

“Huh,” said Tony, “I’ll have to look that one up.”

“So which is it?” asked Gibbs.

“Excuse me?”

“Utopia or hell?”

“Oh, somewhere in between, I guess.  There’s no hunger.  Disease can mostly be cured.  Hasn’t been a war for decades.  Life’s full of opportunities.”

“You mentioned going back to Earth.  What’s it like?” asked Gibbs.

“It’s fine.  The planet was saved a long time ago.  I reckon it’s probably in better shape than you remember it.”

“And what do people _do_?” asked Gibbs, “If life is so perfect.”

“It’s not perfect,” said Tony, “And we know now that it shouldn’t be.  When people go for perfection, things go wrong.”

“So people work?”

“Sure.  They work, study, take breaks, travel, create … all sorts of things.  We usually study until our thirties.”

“Thirties?”

“If we want to.  I did three degrees, took a year off to explore MACS0647-JD, did four years of teaching and then decided to join NIS.  That was fifteen years ago.”

“Fifteen years?  How old are you?  How old is Ducky?” asked Gibbs.

“Ducky’s 130.  I’m coming up to 60.”

“What?  That’s impossible,” said Gibbs.

Tony frowned as he did the sums, “Yeah, I forgot the 5 years I took to bring up Berry.”

“Berry?”

“My daughter.”

“And do people still get … married?”

“If they want to.  I’m coming up to the third renewal.”

“Renewal?”

“If people want to get married, they do it for ten years at a time.  With an option to renew every ten years,” explained Tony, “Seems to be a good system.”

“Where’s your wife?”

“She’s doing archaeology on Mars.  We’ll pick her up on our way through.  Go see Dickon.”

“Dickon?”

“Our grandson.  Worst thing about being on this assignment has been being away from him.  Although we keep in contact.”

“Skype?” suggested Gibbs as he remembered something his co-workers talked about.

Tony gazed into his device again and laughed, “I guess.  Something like that but this is better.  You can smell people the other end, and there’s almost a sense of touch.”

Gibbs nodded, “Could’ve done with something like that when I was on deployment.”

“Gibbs,” said Tony, “Like I said.  Most dippers are in a panic when they arrive here.  Not just the disorientation – that’s less than you might expect.  I figure the Sci-Fi prepares them some.  They panic because they’re apart from their loved ones.  You, I don’t get that with you.”

“Nobody to miss me,” said Gibbs simply.  “Lost my family a long time ago.  My Dad’s dead, he was the last.  I have friends but work is my life.  And that can’t go on for ever.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully but took another bite of pizza rather than replying.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs was shown to a cabin and invited to rest or use the information device to do research.  Gibbs nodded politely but found that he preferred to gaze out of the window and watch the stars go by.  He wondered what a rejuvenated Earth looked like.

An hour after he had been shown to the cabin, he had a visitor.

“Gibbs, you puzzle me,” said Tony.

“Lot of people say that about me,” said Gibbs.

“We looked at NCIS records.”

“And?”

“You went missing in July 2017.  Never found.”

“Does that mean you sent me back wrong?”

“No.  We don’t make mistakes.  And we’ve always traced the people we sent back,” said Tony.

“Maybe the records are wrong,” suggested Gibbs.

“The records are thorough.  And we were able to run tests on your DNA and blood.  Pretty basic compared to what we do nowadays but conclusive.”

“What you mean, conclusive?”

“They confirm that you are who you say you are.  And that helps.”

“How so?  Why would you suspect me of making it up?  Thought you said there was no crime?”

“I said, not much,” said Tony.

Gibbs thought back to the conversation he had overheard when he was coming round.  “But you get people pretending to be … dippers?”

“Yes, we do.  People trying to infiltrate.  We can usually tell just by a medical exam.  People from the past have scars or diseases which we wouldn’t have nowadays.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have a scar from your transplant?” said Gibbs.

“No, not from any of them,” said Tony.  “But you do have scars.”

“But people fake them?”

“Sometimes.  Has been known for people to allow their bones to be broken and not use modern treatments but let them heal naturally,” Tony suppressed a shudder at the barbarity of the process.

“I’m not faking,” said Gibbs.

“No.  Ducky’s sure that your scars are genuine. And we’ve got your record from NCIS.  You’re stubborn, difficult, opinionated but you’re loyal and honest.”

“And the people – the false dippers – aren’t?”

“No, they’re not.”

“And they’re dangerous?”

“Yes, they are.  We believe they’re from a distant galaxy and they’re after our resources.  Which we would happy to share or trade but diplomats haven’t convinced them yet.”

“Them?”

“The Kermites.”

“Kermites?” said Gibbs blankly, “That sounds like …”

Tony looked embarrassed.  “Yeah.  We didn’t know.  We made contact about a hundred years ago.  They came from the Kerm galaxy, quite reclusive and, like I said, it’s taking a while to get on good terms with them.  So we called them Kermites.”  Gibbs tried to keep a straight face.  “And then one of the dippers, a real dipper, laughed when she found out.  Told us about …”

“The Muppets,” said Gibbs, “There’s a frog called Kermit.”

“Yes,” said Tony bitterly, “And the Kermites have green skin … and they speak in croaks.  If we’d known, we’d have given them different names but it’s too late to change now.  We’d have to explain why.”

Gibbs laughed and Tony reluctantly joined in.  When Gibbs was able to speak again he asked, “Why’d you need a lung transplant?”

Tony nodded approvingly, “We’re out here on a scientific research trip but also keeping an eye out for Kermite incursion,” he glared at Gibbs to warn him not to laugh again, “And we came across some diamond smugglers.  They used old fashioned weapons and I got hit in the chest.”

“Ouch,” said Gibbs.

“Oh well,” said Tony philosophically, “Made Ducky’s day.  Got to do some real medicine.  You know, some medics never see blood … or not as much as Ducky saw that day.”

“But you’re OK?”

“Sure.  Takes a lot to kill someone in the 25th century.”

“Good to know,” said Gibbs although he wasn’t sure it was good to know.  He asked something else which had been puzzling him.  “Why haven’t you sent me back yet?”

Tony paused before replying, “I’m not sure.  Might be the NIS connection.  Might be the way you handled the whole thing although for a while that made me suspicious.  I guess I was curious about what it was like to be in NCIS so long ago.  I meant it when I said that Ellie will go nuts for you.”

“And why did you tell me about the Kermites?” asked Gibbs, his lips twitched a little.

“When I found out that you’ve disappeared off the old records,” said Tony, “I wondered if you stayed here.  Gave me this crazy idea.”

“Go on,” said Gibbs.

“Technology does a lot in the 25th century,” said Tony, “But it doesn’t stop us thinking for ourselves and relying on instincts.  And I reckon I’ve got good instincts, especially about people.  Seems to me that you’re angry and you’re sad.”

“So?  That’s not unusual,” said Gibbs.

“I looked at the old NCIS regs – you’ll be up for mandatory retirement soon and I don’t figure you for someone who’ll look forward to that.”

“Like you said, mandatory,” said Gibbs blandly.

“Yeah, although you’d fight it tooth and nail.  But it seems to me that you might like the 25th century.  I looked up where your cabin was … is.  Out in the wilds, I’m guessing you like it partly because it’s away from people but also because it’s out in the wilds, where you can be close to nature.  You’d like our green Earth.”

“I guess so.”

“And there’d be things you could do.  Lots of people want to know what it’s like to live with Nature – you could tell them.  And you liked to sail – not many people have that skill nowadays.”

“So I could be a living museum exhibit?” asked Gibbs with a touch of bitterness.

“You could be, of course,” said Tony choosing to ignore the bitterness, “And you might enjoy it,” he coughed, “Ducky mentioned you have some problems with your knees … he could probably sort those out.  There’s a reason people don’t retire here unless they want to.”  He looked at Gibbs hopefully.

“Hmm,” said Gibbs.

“And you might be able to help with the crime we do have.  You have recent experience after all.”

“Your battle with the Kermites,” suggested Gibbs.

“Yes, although if you keep grinning when you say that word, I’ll get Ducky to wipe your memory lickety-split.”

“Lickety-split?” asked Gibbs.

“I looked it up,” said Tony sheepishly, “Thought it might make you feel at home.  It means …”

“I know what it means,” said Gibbs, “And no, I don’t want my memory wiped quite yet.”

“So you’ll stay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course,” said Tony pensively, “As it looks as if you never resigned, technically you’re still employed.  I could order you back to duty.”

“You could?” said Gibbs sceptically.

“I could,” said Tony firmly, “I outrank you.”

“Well, in that case, I’d better stay.  I always obey orders,” he lied.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Jethro huffed as he hoisted a bundle of willow shoots on to his back and began the walk to his hut.  He was warm from the exercise of cutting the withies but felt the chill winter air nipping at his ears and he looked forward to getting to shelter.  Jethro was approaching the hut when he saw someone coming along the path from the village and he shifted the bundle slightly so that he had readier access to his knife.

“Good day!” called the stranger.

“And to you,” replied Jethro cautiously, allowing his hand to drift towards the belt where the knife waited.

“Are you Jethro, son of Gib?”

“Aye.”

“The constable said you’d be here.”

“Yes?” Jethro eyed the stranger, trying to weigh him up.  That he had been sent by the constable was not necessarily a recommendation.  Jethro consider Tobias to be a friend but he had a mischievous streak and did not always deport himself with the dignity appropriate to his office.

“I’m looking for work.  The constable said you might be able to help.”

“No,” said Jethro, as he turned away.  “I work alone.”

“I’m a hard worker.”

“So am I.  I do the work of two men.”

“So can I. Then we could do the work of four.”

Jethro turned back, “You know numbers?”

“A little.  So long as they’re not more than ten.” Jethro grunted in what the stranger took to be amusement.  “So, do we have an agreement?”

“No,” said Jethro.  “As I said, I work alone.  I need no-one.”

“Then do you have a cup of ale to spare?  It’s a long walk from the village and I’m dry.”

Jethro wanted to say no but there was a tradition of helping wayfarers and a cup of ale was easily spared.  “Very well.  But that’s all, and then you’ll be on your way.”

“I thank you, Master.”

“I’m nobody’s master.  Jethro is good enough for me.  Come on.”

Jethro went into his hut and a few moments later brought out a wooden cup full of ale and handed it over.

“Thank you, Mas – Jethro.”  The stranger took a gulp.  “It’s good,” he said.  “I’m Anton.”

“Anton?” It was not a name that Jethro had come across before.

“Aye.  My mother named me for St Antony the Great.  She lived near a church dedicated to him.  She told me that she spent many hours praying there while she was carrying me.”  Anton grinned over the cup, “She never told me if her prayers were answered or not.”

Jethro stared at his visitor.

“This is a fine cup, Jethro,” observed Anton, “Did you make it?”

Jethro nodded.

“If you had help,” said Anton hopefully, “You could spend time making more like this.  I am sure they would find a market.”

“I work alone,” said Jethro again.

“For now,” said Anton, “But think of the advantages of having someone to work for you.”

“What work are you used to?” asked Jethro, finding himself drawn in despite himself.

Anton grinned again, “I will admit that I have no experience in … what you would want me to do.  But I am a hard worker and I learn quickly.”

“That was not my question,” said Jethro, “What work are you used to?”

“I have done many things. I’m good with my hands.  I have been a cook, a tumbler and I play the lute and sing.”

“Where’s the lute?” asked Jethro suspiciously.  Anton’s pack did not seem big enough to hold a lute.

A shadow passed over Anton’s face for the first time since he had arrived, “I had to sell it,” he admitted.

“Then you won’t be making music,” said Jethro harshly.

“I make pipes,” said Anton.  “I could make you one from one of those willow rods.”

“What would I want with a pipe?” asked Jethro.

“They make merry music,” suggested Anton.  He faltered as he looked at Jethro’s grim face, somehow he didn’t look like someone who would seek out merry music.

“How do you make them?” asked Jethro who was always interested in new uses for willow.

Anton grinned again and drew out a knife from his belt.

“You didn’t sell the knife then,” observed Jethro.

“A knife is the most important possession,” said a shocked Anton, “It can do so much … apart from saving one’s life in extremes.”

Jethro nodded his approval but decided to end the discussion.  “It’s getting dark.  You should be on your way.  I work alone and have no time for making _merry music_.”  He held out his hand for the cup.  Anton sighed resignedly and drained the contents.

“I thank you.  Do you know of anyone who does need help?”

Jethro began to understand why Tobias had sent the persistent Anton to him.  “No.  People here are poor, they have to work for themselves.”

Anton nodded and, as Jethro watched, suddenly lost all colour from his face and fell in a crumpled heap at Jethro’s feet.

XXXXX

Anton didn’t know how long it was before he began to come to himself again but he decided to stay where he was for the time being: it was a long time since he had felt warm and comfortable and he didn’t want the sensation to end too soon.  He became aware of a conversation going on over his head; he recognised Jethro’s voice but the other soft voice was strange to him and he found that he could only understand a few of the words.

“Tired … cauld … like a wean …”

Anton found the voice soothing even though he didn’t know what was being said and he allowed himself to drift off again.  When he awoke the next time it was to find Jethro on his own in the hut.

“You’re awake,” Jethro observed.

“What happened?”

“What do you think happened?”

“Your ale was too strong for me?” suggested Anton.

“Aye, Donal said you’d not eaten for days.”

“Donal?”

“Donal Mallar … he’s the apothecary in the village.”

“Oh,” said Anton, “I remember now.  I heard you talking but …”

“He takes some getting used to,” conceded Jethro, “He comes from the North.  He doesn’t talk like the rest of us but he’s usually right … and if he’s not, he tells us that he was right but we just didn’t hear him right!”

Anton smiled at this evidence of a sense of humour in Jethro.  “And what else did he say?”

“That you were cold, tired and weak like a child,” said Jethro severely.

“I’ve been on the road for a long time,” confessed Anton, “I traded the lute days ago.  And I’m not sure I got a good deal.  Which is unusual for me.”

“Why are you travelling?  Where’s your mother?”

“She died.”

“No other family?  What about your father?”

“He’s always travelling.  Never wanted to be tied down to a family.  I thought about trying to find him but …”

“How old are you?”

“Not sure.  I was born in July.  As far as I can reckon it, I’m about twenty.”

Jethro nodded.  “I’ve got some pottage; you feel ready to try some?”

Anton’s face lit up, “Are you sure?  Can you spare it?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t,” said Jethro gruffly.  “Here, be careful.”

Anton wriggled out from beneath the furs that covered him and sat up cautiously.  He drank from another of Jethro’s wooden bowls with an ecstatic look on his face.

“It’s not that good,” said Jethro drily.

“It is to me,” Anton assured him.

“Aye, I suppose I know what that’s like,” said Jethro.

Anton looked at him over the rim of the bowl and said cautiously, “The constable said you’d been a soldier.”

“That’s right.”

“With King Richard, In the Holy Land.”

“Yes.”

“Was that when you went hungry?”

“It’s a hard life being a soldier,” said Jethro as he gazed at the fire in the centre of the hut.

“I’ve sung ballads about the battles,” said Anton, “It sounds wonderful.”

“Well, it’s not,” said Jethro, “The songs don’t tell of the pity of it all.  The killing and the maiming … losing friends … the screams.  You still hear the screams years afterwards.”

“But it must have been exciting,” said Anton, apparently unwilling to let go of the dream.

“I’ll give you that,” said Jethro, “And terrifying – but I suppose I knew I was alive.”

Anton looked thoughtful at these words but stayed silent.

“And things aren’t the same when you come back,” said Jethro.  “Everything changes.”  He continued to look into the fire and Anton had the feeling that he had forgotten he was not alone.

Anton finished the last of the stew and pulled the furs back over him.  He closed his eyes and the last thing he saw was the hunched figure of Jethro brooding over the fire.

XXXXX

Jethro shot back to wakefulness the next morning in sudden alarm.  He realised that he was not alone in the hut and, before memory returned, was instantly suspicious of a possible intruder.

“Good morning,” said Anton.  “I milked the cow.  I think she would have preferred it to be done by you but she let me do it. I’ve lit the fire under the pottage.”

Jethro nodded.  He usually ate the breakfast pottage cold because he was eager to get out and take advantage of daylight but warm pottage would make a good change.  He sat down on his wooden stool and let Anton pour him a cup of ale.

“Why did you leave the army?” asked Anton.

Jethro wondered if Anton was always this talkative or whether it was a consequence of his lonely travels but he found himself beginning to appreciate a slightly less isolated life.

“The king returned to England,” he said, “My time of service was over.  I’d promised my … I’d promised it would be my last campaign.  And I keep my promises.”

“What did you do in the army?” asked Anton whose rapid consumption of his bowl of pottage didn’t seem to be getting in the way of talking.

“I was a master bowman,” said Jethro.

“You’re a good shot then?”

“I was a master bowman,” repeated Jethro.

Anton took the hint.  “And you came back here?”

“The Lord Leonard gave me this piece of land near the river in recognition of my service.  I harvest the willows, make wattle fences and walls from the withies.  And there is enough pasture for the cow.  Some goats in the rougher areas.”

“You could make baskets from the willows,” suggested Anton.  “Make more of the bowls …”

“You can stay here and rest,” said Jethro.  He got to his feet, took a loaf of barley bread and a flask of ale and stowed them in his bag, “I’ll be back by nightfall.”

“You trust me?” asked Anton.

“Nothing worth taking,” said Jethro, “And I’d find you.  You wouldn’t get far.”

Anton nodded.  Somehow he believed him.

XXXXX

Dusk was gathering when Jethro returned.  He found Anton bent over something.

“You’re back,” said Anton.

Jethro didn’t bother to reply.  “What’s that?” he asked pointing to the object in Anton’s hands.

“I made a basket,” said Anton proudly.  He held it up for Jethro to see.

Jethro took it into his hands and had to concede that, for a first effort, it was pretty good.  It was slightly misshapen and lopsided but it would do its job.  “Not bad,” he said.

“I know it’s not perfect,” said Anton modestly, “But I’d get better.”

Jethro handed it back without further comment.

“I found some carrots and garlic.  Put them in the pottage,” said Anton helpfully.

Jethro grunted something which might have been appreciation.  “Trapped a hare.  We can have it tomorrow.”  He pulled it out of his bag.  Anton nodded and did not comment on the _we._

Jethro didn’t admit that the addition of carrots and garlic improved the flavour of the pottage but he didn’t discourage Anton when he returned to the subject of Jethro’s former career.

“What was the Holy Land like?” he asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I met a palmer once,” said Anton, “You know, someone who’d been on a pilgrimage and brought back a palm leaf to show he’d been.  He was a kind person.”

“Not everyone I met in the Holy Land was kind,” said Jethro.

“No, I suppose not,” said Anton.  “And I think my feet are weary from travelling.  I never seem to find anywhere to settle.  Something always happens.”

“Journeys have to end sometime,” observed Jethro.

“I made a pipe,” said Anton, “See!”

Jethro held out his hand indulgently, for a moment it felt like when a small girl had rushed to show him the flower garland she had just made but he shook his head against that memory.  “It’s good,” he said in surprise.  The pipe had been made well, the holes were neatly cut out and Anton had carved some motifs into the surface: it seemed that Anton’s assertion that he was good with his hands was not an idle boast.

“I was thinking of moving on tomorrow,” said Anton.

“Huh,” said Jethro.

“But I was wondering if I could stay for a few days.  Perhaps do some work and you could give me some food and ale to help me on my way.  And I should do some work to repay you for the food and shelter I’ve already had.”

Jethro opened his mouth to say there was no need to repay anything but closed it as he realised that the hut would seem empty when Anton left.  It was true that Jethro worked alone but perhaps that could change and he could begin to feel alive once more.

“As you wish,” he said.

Anton nodded and began to explain all that he could do to help around the place.  Jethro interrupted him,

“You play that thing?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then play it.  Give me some of your _merry music_.”

“Are you sure?” asked Anton who hadn’t yet learned that it was a question which should never be put to Jethro.

“I’m sure.”  Anton beamed at him.  “While you’re playing the pipe you won’t be able to talk!” said Jethro in a dampening tone but with something of a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, Master,” said Anton.

Jethro wondered what he had let himself in for – there might be a lively discussion when he next met Tobias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard 1 (Richard the Lionheart) was King of England from 1189 to 1199 and went on Crusade from around 1191 to 1192 – I’ve sent Gibbs and Tony back a long way this time. Somehow I didn’t think the name Tony would be used in medieval England so changed it to Anton. Pottage was a type of soup which formed a big part of the diet – especially for peasants like Jethro and Anton.


	6. Chapter 6

“Sit here quietly,” said the middle-aged woman.  “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Hey.  What is this place?” the new arrival asked of the other occupant. 

There was no reply.

“Hey, I asked you a question!”

Still no reply.

“You deaf or something?”

A puzzled look was turned on him.

“Or just stupid?”

The eyes were turned away from him.

The new arrival reached for a more conciliatory tone, “OK, look, I just want to know what this place is.  Not too hard, is it?”

The eyes turned back and there was a hint of a shrug.

The new arrival grinned at this sign of wavering and pressed the advantage, “You’re supposed to be nice to new people …”

“Well,” came the hesitant reply, “This is time-out.”

“Time-out?  What’s that?”

“It’s time-out.”

“You said that.  What is it?”

“Haven’t you been in time-out before?”

“Nope.  If I had, I’d have known what it was, wouldn’t I?  Bozo!”

“Bozo?”

“Anthony!”  The middle-aged woman came sweeping back into the room.  “You know better than to talk while you’re in time-out.  And you’re supposed to be nice to new people not call them names. I’m surprised at you.  You’ll stay in time-out another ten minutes.  Apologise to Leroy.”

The 9-year-old Anthony flushed angrily and opened his mouth to argue but one look at the implacable face of his teacher told him that it would be useless, “Yes, Miss Pike.  Sorry, _Leroy._ ”

“But,” began Leroy, “It wasn’t his fault, really.”

“It’s nice of you to stand up for your new friend, Leroy,” said Miss Pike, “But Anthony knows better.  Come along, we’ll go back into the class room and you can tell me that you understand what you did wrong before.”

The teacher caught hold of Leroy’s hand and tugged him out of the room.  Anthony returned to counting the tiles on the wall in front of him.  He heard Leroy still protesting as he left.

XXXXX

At lunch time, Leroy sought out Anthony and finally found him sitting under a tree poking discontentedly at a plastic box.

“Hey,” said Leroy.  It seemed to be his standard greeting.

Anthony looked up, gazed at his visitor for a moment or two and then returned to looking at the contents of the box.

“Don’t you talk?” asked Leroy.

Anthony shrugged and took a bite of his salad.

“You’re Anthony,” said Leroy.

Anthony swallowed his food, wiped his mouth with a snowy white napkin, and said, “Tony.”

“What?”

Once again Leroy didn’t get a reply as the other boy was prodding his lunch once more.

“I get it,” said Leroy, “You prefer Tony.”

He got another cool gaze for his deduction.

“Back home, there’s a guy called Anthony.  But people call him Tony.  I mean, grown-ups.  I have to call him Mr Strachan.”

“Huh,” said Tony.

“And I’d rather be called Jethro,” said Leroy moodily.  “But my Mom and Dad forget and keep calling me Leroy.  It’s not fair.  They call LJ, LJ.”

Tony looked puzzled at this incoherence.

“I’m named after someone called Leroy Jethro.  And _he_ gets called LJ.  Why couldn’t they call _me_ LJ as well.  That would be cool.”  Jethro scowled at the injustice of adults while Tony simply shrugged and continued to munch away.

“Hey,” said Jethro, as he remembered why he’d sought out Tony.  “I’m sorry about earlier.  I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”

Tony shrugged again.

“But at my school we don’t do things like time-out.  But fish-face said she thinks it …”

“Creates a calming atmosphere,” said Tony, surprising Jethro by speaking voluntarily for the first time.

“Yeah, that’s what she said.  I guess it’s better than lines.  Or standing in the corner,” said Jethro.  “But it wasn’t fair that she put me there.  I didn’t mean to drop that pile of books.”

Tony looked at him sceptically.

“Well,” conceded Jethro, “Not _all_ of them.  And they made a great noise.  And that girl with the pigtails …”

“Lucy,” supplied Tony.

“She jumped real good.  Probably ‘cos she’s a redhead.”

“Huh?”

“Redheads are like that.  Jumpy.”

“I think she’s pretty,” said Tony.

“Pretty?  Nah, I don’t like redheads,” asserted Jethro.  “And besides, she’s a girl.”

This was unanswerable – which seemed to be Tony’s preferred way of operating.

“What you got?” asked Jethro.

“Huh?”

“In your lunch box.  I’ve got some chicken pie, a donut and an apple.”  Jethro tossed the apple away.

“Chicken pie?” said Tony.

“Home made,” said Jethro with relish.  “What you got?”

Tony gestured towards a flask, “Vichyssoise,” he took the top off and held it out to Jethro to sniff.

“Vicious soup?” asked Jethro.

“Kinda,” agreed Tony.

“What else?” asked Jethro as he peered into the lunch box.”

“Salmon quiche and salad,” said Tony gloomily.

“What’s keesh?”

Tony poked at it again, “Like custard.”

“Salmon custard?”

“Yeah.  My Dad had a dinner party last night.”

“What’s a dinner party?”

Tony stared but then seemed to realise he didn’t know the answer, “It’s a party where you have dinner,” he managed finally.  Jethro nodded blankly.  “Don’t you have them … where you come from?” asked Tony.

Jethro thought about this, “Don’t think so.  Folks come for Sunday dinner.  And we have potluck dinners at church sometimes.  Is that the same thing?”

“What’s a potluck dinner?”

“You know, people bring something to eat and share it.”

Tony shook his head blankly but then said mournfully, “But why would someone have brought vicious soup to my Dad’s house?”

Jethro shook his head in sympathy at this manifestation of the odd behaviour of grown-ups.  “You want a piece of my pie?” he offered.

“Well,” said Tony.

Jethro waved a piece under his nose.

“it does smell good,” said Tony.

“My Auntie Lillie made it,” said Jethro.  “She’s a fine cook.”

“Your Auntie’s the cook?”

“Sure.”

“You mean your Auntie does the cooking?  For you?”

“Sure, that’s what I said.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “I didn’t know people did that.”

“Did what?”

“Cooked if they don’t get paid for it.”

“Who does your cooking then?”

“The cook.  But he prefers to be called a _chef._ ”

“What’s a chef?”

“A cook,” admitted Tony.

Jethro was baffled so decided to return to basics, “So, you want a piece of pie or not?”

“OK,” said Tony, “You want some of the quiche?”

“Salmon custard?” said Jethro doubtfully.

“Or vicious soup,” offered Tony. 

Unlike some children, Jethro wasn’t afraid of unknown food so he decided to help his new friend out.  “Sure,” he said, “Gimme some of both.”

A relieved look dawned on Tony’s face as he passed his lunch box and flask to Jethro.  Jethro took a cautious sip of the soup and then a bigger gulp as he realised it was delicious.  He passed his own box over to Tony who took a bite of chicken pie.  Jethro moved on to the salmon custard and, after another initial cautious taste, dug into it with enthusiasm.  A few minutes later, Jethro had eaten and drunk all of Tony’s lunch and Tony had devoured the pie and donut and was looking hopefully at the apple.

“Why were you in time-out?” asked Jethro.

Tony wiped his mouth, “Miss Pike …”

“Fish-face,” corrected Jethro.  Tony looked blank.  “It’s a nickname,” said Jethro informatively.  “I like nicknames.”

“OK,” said Tony.  “Miss _Fish-face_ caught me passing a note to Lucy.”

“Eww,” said Jethro. “But she’s a girl.”

“So?”

“She’s a _girl_ ,” said Jethro as if it was obvious. 

“I like her,” said Tony.

Jethro shuddered, “I’m never getting married.  Never.  Not even once.”

“Tell your Auntie Lillie that she makes a good chicken pie,” said Tony politely.

Jethro looked surprised.

“It’s proper to give your compliments to the chef,” said Tony a little pompously.

“It is?”

“Yes, and if it’s a restaurant you should leave a tip as well.”

“What’s a restaurant?”

“You know, somewhere you pay to eat,” said Tony.

“Oh,” said Jethro, “You mean like a diner.  Or a pizza parlour.”

“I’ve only been to restaurants,” said Tony.

“You’ve never been to a pizza parlour?”

“No.  What’s pizza like?”

“You never had pizza?”

“No.  Does it matter?”

Jethro was shocked.  “My Auntie Lillie makes great pizza.  She said she was going to make one tonight.  Sausage, cheese and pepperoni.”  He saw Tony’s eyes widen in disbelief.  “I’ll bring you in a slice tomorrow.”

Tony looked shocked at this idea but, characteristically, didn’t say anything.

“Auntie Lillie would like you,” announced Jethro.

“She would?”

“Sure.  You eat neatly.  Wipe your mouth.  And you ate my apple.  She likes boys who are polite and eat apples,” said Jethro firmly.

“Huh,” said Tony.

“You could come to our house,” said Jethro.  “Well, not really _our_ house.  We live in Stillwater – that’s in Pennsylvania.  We’re in New York while my Mom looks out for Auntie Josie.  She’s my Mom’s sister.  And Auntie Lillie’s sister.  Auntie Josie is having a baby in a couple of months but she has to stay in bed and look at her feet all day … or that’s what she says she does.  I think she’s bored.  Anyway, Mom came to look after her and I came with her.  Dad stayed at home to mind the store but he’s coming up at weekends.  Mr Strachan … I told you about him … he’s going to look after it then.”

“Oh,” said Tony.

“They told me it would be like a vacation,” said Jethro darkly.  “I thought it would be fun but then they brought me to school today.  That’s not fun.”

“There’s a good basketball team,” offered Tony.

“I prefer football,” said Jethro, “Or baseball.”

“I’m not too good at football,” admitted Tony.

“I am,” said Jethro confidently.  “I’ll teach you.”

“Oh,” said Tony.

“What does your Dad do?” asked Jethro.

“He works,” said Tony a little defiantly.

“Well, duh,” said Jethro.  “But what does he _do_?”

Tony looked confused, “He makes money.”

“He makes money?” asked Jethro.  “You mean, like on a printing press?”

“No, at least, I don’t think so.  I haven’t seen one at the house.  No, he does deals.”

Jethro shrugged, he was picking up Tony’s gestures already.  “What about your Mom?  What does she do?”

Tony swallowed, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?  My Mom would get real mad if I said that.  She says that she works just as hard as my Dad even if she doesn’t get paid for it.  Your Mom must do something.”

“No,” said Tony, gazing across the yard, “She died.”

“Oh,” said Jethro.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”

“That’s OK,” said Tony.  “I’m used to it.”

“What’s it like?” asked Jethro.

“What’s what like?”

“Having a dead Mom.”

Tony thought about this for a few moments, “It’s not good,” he said finally.  “I liked it better before.”

“Is that why you don’t talk much?” asked Jethro.

“What?”

“Because you’re sad?”

“Some.”

“Some?”

“I guess I’m not used to talking so much.”

“What?” asked Jethro.

“There’s not many people at home to talk to.  Apart from the chef … and the housekeeper … and the driver.  But they’re busy.”

Jethro decided it was more important to get to the bottom of Tony’s quietness than to explore what a chauffeur was and why Tony’s house had so many busy people in it.  “What about the other kids at school?” he asked.

Tony shrugged, “They don’t know what to say to me.”

“What?”

“I think they got embarrassed.  I was pretty upset when Mom … died – they didn’t know what to say to me.”

“That’s OK,” said Jethro determinedly, “I’ll talk to you.  I’m used to talking.”

“You are?”

“Sure.  My Dad says that talking to customers is real important.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.  I reckon it keeps them in the store and they spend more money.”

“Oh.”

“Although,” Jethro tried to be fair, “I think Dad actually _likes_ talking to them.  And I do too, folk are interesting but I think it’s a good idea to keep them in the store.”

“Ah,” said Tony.

“I’m going to take over the store when my Dad’s too old to do it anymore,” announced Jethro.

“You are?”

“Yeah.  I reckon it’ll be about another 10 years.  He’ll be real old by then.  What you going to do?  When you grow up?  You gonna make deals like your Dad?”

“No!” said Tony.  “I want to be a Marine.”

“A Marine?  Why?”

“They go away from home,” said Tony.  “And they look cool in the movies I’ve seen.”

“You like movies?” asked Jethro.

“Sure,” said Tony.  “Don’t you?”

“They’re OK,” said Jethro.

“I’ve got loads of videos,” said Tony, “I could bring you some Marine ones.  You might like them.”

“OK,” said Jethro indifferently.

“And Magnum PI ones,” said Tony.

“Magnum?  Oh, like the picture on your lunchbox?”

“He’s cool,” said Tony reverently.  “If I can’t be a Marine then I’ll be a PI like him.  He lives in Hawaii, you know.  My Dad says he’ll take me one day.”

The bell sounded to end lunch.

Jethro stood up and held out his hand, “You and me are going to be friends,” he stated.  “I’ll look out for you.  You’ll soon start enjoying talking again.”

Tony took the hand and nodded.  Somehow he felt it would be a great summer. 

And it was.  But neither boy realised how much they’d change as a result.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Season 8 episode ‘Baltimore’.
> 
> In case you can’t remember what happened:
> 
> This is the episode in which Gibbs and Tony first met in canon. Gibbs is in Baltimore tracking down Lieutenant Floyd who is suspected of money laundering. Tony and his partner Danny Price are already investigating the murder of a man named Franklin – the two cases end up being linked.

Tony DiNozzo ran towards his car at the end of his early morning run but stopped some distance away when he saw someone leaning nonchalantly against it.  He slowed to a jog and then walked the final few paces.

“Just had her waxed and polished,” he commented.

The grey haired man shrugged, “I’m clean,” he said.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, he didn’t say anything but found himself tensed and poised for action.

“Detective DiNotso?”

“DiNozzo,” corrected Tony.

“Huh.  I was told DiNotso.”

“And you are?” asked Tony, still keeping a cautious distance.

“Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS.”  Gibbs produced his creds and flipped them to show both the shield and his picture.

“NC what?” asked Tony, relaxing a little and drawing closer.

“NCIS.  Naval Criminal Investigative Service,” said Gibbs with a weary air which suggested it was a familiar question.

“Navy Cop,” said Tony with a hint of challenge.

“Could say that.”

“And what does _NCIS_ want with me?” asked Tony.  He pushed past Gibbs to open the car door and get a towel from the back seat.

“I was told that you run here most days,” said Gibbs.

“Who told you?”

“Not important.  We’ve been watching you.”

Tony tensed again but made sure he still looked relaxed.  “Should I be flattered or worried?” he said.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ve done something to be worried about.”

Tony laughed, “Somehow I think our definitions of things to be worried about might be very different, Special Agent Gibbs.”

“Could be,” agreed Gibbs.

“Well,” said Tony, “Not that this hasn’t been a treat but I’ve got to get to work.”

“Someone in your department is on the take,” said Gibbs.

Tony paused in the act of lowering himself into the driving seat of the car.  “Who?” he asked.

Gibbs stared at him appraisingly, “Interesting,” he said.

Tony stood upright again, “Interesting?  What you mean, _interesting_?”

“Just that.  You didn’t deny it, you asked _who_.”

“Well, Mr Navy Cop, if that’s all you’ve got to say, I’ll be on my way.  You know, crime to investigate, _real_ crooks to catch.”

“Don’t you want to know who it is?”

“Speak to my Boss.  Major Raimey – I’m sure he’ll be happy to accommodate you,” said Tony brusquely.

Gibbs swept on, “We’ve been watching …”

“Who’s _we_?” Tony interrupted him.

“We’ve been watching.  We’ve narrowed it down to a couple of people …”

“Who’s _we_?” repeated Tony.

“This would go a whole lot quicker if you didn’t keep interrupting,” said Gibbs.

“I apologise,” began Tony sarcastically.

“Don’t apologise,” said Gibbs, “It’s a sign of weakness.”

Tony glared at him, “Good morning, Special Agent Gibbs, it hasn’t been a pleasure.”

“You know where I can get coffee?” said Gibbs.

“What?”

“I need coffee.  And you need to listen to what I’m telling you.  So, where can we get coffee?”

Tony stared at Gibbs again but something seemed to tell him that he shouldn’t fob the guy off.  “Dulcie’s, around the corner.  It’s quiet at this time of day.”

“I’ll follow you,” said Gibbs.

A few minutes later, Tony and Gibbs were sitting in a booth in a rundown café.  Gibbs wondered what sort of coffee would be provided but soon found out that, while the décor needed work, the menu did not.  Tony was clearly a regular and valued customer.  Soon after they had arrived, an enormous breakfast was placed in front of Tony.

“He’s paying,” said Tony managing to smile at Dulcie and scowl at Gibbs at the same time.

“You want something?” said Dulcie picking up on Tony’s doubts about Gibbs.

“Coffee,” said Gibbs, “And some eggs, bacon and hash browns.”  Dulcie stared at Gibbs.  “Please,” he said.

“That’s better,” she said.  “You OK there, sugar?” she said solicitously to Tony.

“I’m fine,” said Tony, “Your food always makes me feel better.”

Dulcie patted his shoulder maternally, “Bacon, eggs and hash browns coming up.”

“And coffee,” said Gibbs.

“And coffee,” said Dulcie coolly.

“Dulcie takes a while to warm up to people,” said Tony around a mouthful of sausage and beans.

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” said Gibbs.  “Thanks,” he said with a nod as the coffee arrived.

“So, speak,” said Tony, “I’ve got places to be.  A man could grow old waiting for you to get to the point.”

“We …” began Gibbs.

“There’s that _we_ again,” said Tony, “If you don’t tell me who this _we_ is then I walk out right now.”

“FBI and NCIS,” said Gibbs.

“Go on,” said Tony, “I need to leave as soon as I finish eating.  And, as you can see, I eat fast.”

“FBI have been investigating money laundering in Baltimore.  My team was looking into the activities of Lieutenant Ian Floyd and found out that he was involved with money laundering too and possibly the murder of a guy called Franklin.  It was decided to merge the two enquiries.”

“You mean, you refused to let go,” said Tony knowingly.

Gibbs shrugged, “We believe that Floyd is linked to someone in the Baltimore PD.  Passing and receiving information to avoid being caught.”

“I see.  And how does that involve me?”

“We need someone on the inside of your department to find out who it is.”

“How do you know it’s not me?” asked Tony.

Gibbs looked at him for an unnervingly long stretch of time, “We considered it.  In fact, you seemed the most likely candidate.”

Tony gazed back at him tranquilly, “Should I be flattered?” he asked.

“You’re used to money,” said Gibbs, “But you’re working as a police detective.  Doesn’t quite fit in with the background.”

“Money isn’t everything,” said Tony.

“No,” agreed Gibbs, “And you came up clean.”

Tony raised his coffee mug in ironic salute.

“But someone in your department isn’t clean,” continued Gibbs.

“Then go in and find them,” said Tony.

“And we will go in,” said Gibbs, “But we want you to find out who we need to go after.”

“Why?” asked Tony.

“It’s better this way.”

“So you want me to spy on my co-workers?  I won’t do it,” said Tony.

“Detective DiNozzo, this isn’t one of your prep schools.  It’s not about being a snitch.”

“Sounds like it to me,” said Tony.

“Sure, we could go in.  Turn your department upside-down, put everyone under suspicion.  And we will do that if we need to but believe me, it’s better to do it this way.  Find the bad apple and get rid of him.”

“You said _him_.  So it’s a man?”

“Yes.  None of the female employees are in a position to have the information that’s being leaked.”

“Then who are we talking about?”

“Oh no,” said Gibbs, “Not until I know you’re in.”

Tony directed another stare at Gibbs and seemed to see what he needed, “I’m in.  I think you’re wrong.  I don’t think I’ll find anything.  And then you’ll have to admit you’re wrong.”

“Be happy to.”

“Somehow I can’t picture you as happy, Special Agent Gibbs.”

“It’s either Raimey or Price.”

“ _Danny_ Price?”

“Yeah.”

“My partner?  You think he’s on the take?”  Gibbs nodded.  “Now I know you’re wrong,” said Tony.  “And I look forward to proving it to you.  What’s the plan?”

NCISNCIS

Tony panted as he gave chase to Gibbs.  It had been agreed that Gibbs would show up as an undercover NCIS agent in pursuit of Lieutenant Floyd.  Tony would arrange for himself and Danny to be put on to the Franklin murder case and, in the process, arrest Gibbs when he got in the way.  They hoped that this would get Gibbs inside Baltimore PD and enable Tony to investigate both the murder and the money laundering.  They would both be looking for any attempts to hinder the investigations.

Moments later, Tony was fuming as he recovered from a punch to the face from Gibbs.

“What you do that for?” he hissed as he marched Gibbs away.

“Authenticity,” said Gibbs, “Good reactions, by the way.  That gun got whipped out quick.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” said Tony, “I tend to react when people hit me.”

“Nah,” said Gibbs, “You’ve got more self-control than that.”

Tony huffed with annoyance but admitted to himself that it had been a good idea of Gibbs.  Danny would be able to see the mark on Tony’s face and be less likely to think they already knew each other.

The three days that followed saw Tony continue to be exasperated with Gibbs and the whole of NCIS.  He found himself resenting the superior resources of the agency which meant that forensic results came back in double quick time while Baltimore PD had to wait for days.  If Tony was honest with himself, and he found it painful, he knew that the real reason for his exasperation was that Gibbs was right.  Tony had pulled Danny’s phone records and found that he had talked to Floyd several times and had never mentioned it even though he now knew of Gibbs’ suspicions about the man.

Gibbs and Tony continued with their cover story leading to the arrest of Lieutenant Floyd.  Tony turned a blind eye to the lieutenant’s reaction when Danny belatedly showed up to prevent Floyd shooting Tony.  He and Danny arrested Floyd and took him back to the station.  Tony caught up with Gibbs while Floyd was being interrogated by Danny.

“It’s Price,” said Gibbs confidently.

“Possibly,” said Tony.

“You know it is.  I know you’ve accessed his phone records.”

“How’d you know that?” asked Tony indignantly.

“NCIS has resources … and good people to use them,” said Gibbs smugly.  “You can’t protect him.”

“He’s my partner,” said Tony.

“You knew that going in.  You need to arrest him.  Or I will.”

“Give me some time,” said Tony.

“What for?  This isn’t going away.”

“I’ve got a hunch,” said Tony.

NCISNCIS

“How did you know?” asked Gibbs a few hours later.

“I know Danny,” said Tony wearily.  They were back at Dulcie’s Diner waiting for their order to arrive.

“I need more than that,” said Gibbs.

“Danny didn’t have the brains to organise this,” said Tony.  “He’s bright but not that sort of bright.  He had to be working with someone.”

“And?”

“You said yourself.  It was either Danny or the Major.  Well, turned out it wasn’t either/or but both.”

“You were right,” said Gibbs.

“And I remembered.  Danny was worried last year.  He had some money problems.  I suggested he went to the Major to talk about them, see if he could swing something for him.  You know, they recommend that police officers talk to their superiors if they’re in money difficulties.  Huh!  I don’t think the manual thinks that the superior is going to corrupt the people who go to them for help.”

“It happens,” said Gibbs.

“Might not have if I hadn’t told Danny to do the right thing, the _responsible_ thing,” said Tony bitterly.

“This isn’t your fault,” said Gibbs.

“Feels like it,” said Tony.

“Thanks to you, we’ve got Raimey.”

“Yeah.  So why do I feel dirty?”

“I don’t know,” said Gibbs.  “It was a good thought, bugging that back area.”

“It’s the place that the Major likes to have his private talks with his people,” said Tony.  “I figured that he and Danny would need to have a discussion.  They must have been worried that the lieutenant would bale on them, they needed to figure out a way to persuade him to keep quiet.”

“Reckon Floyd knew that they could put the word out in prison and make his life miserable,” observed Gibbs.  “And that’s what they planned to make sure he knew.  Price thought that the interrogation room wasn’t being observed when he went back in.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” said Tony sadly.

“This is life, DiNozzo, not the Boy Scouts,” said Gibbs harshly, “Price and Raimey are dirty cops.  They needed to be brought down.”

“I know, Special Agent Gibbs.  I did what needed to be done, forgive me for not being happy about it.”

“Fair enough,” said Gibbs.

“Danny could make a deal, couldn’t he?” asked Tony.  He smiled abstractedly at Dulcie as she gave him his order of ham and eggs.  He smiled again when Gibbs’ plate of food was placed down a little forcibly.

“Could do,” said Gibbs.

“He can give information against the Major,” said Tony thinking aloud, “Explain how the Major lured him into doing it all.  And he was just a go-between, following orders.”

“He’s a sworn officer of the law, DiNozzo,” said Gibbs, “You think he didn’t know that he was doing something wrong?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Tony, “I’m just saying that he’s not the real villain here.”

“Eat your food,” said Gibbs.

Tony chewed a piece of ham discontentedly.  “I’ll get on to the Police Union.  They’ll help,” he said. “Get him a lawyer.  He’s got a case to argue.”

“OK,” said Gibbs.

“It’s going to be weird for a while,” said Tony.  “You may have thought this was the quiet way of doing things but finding out that the Boss, not to mention one of his detectives, was on the take is going to be difficult.”

“Yeah, about that,” said Gibbs.

“What?” asked Tony.

“NCIS are hiring.”

“They are?”

“Sure.”

“So?”

“So, like you said, things are going to be weird for a while.  People might be looking at you …”

“Blaming me, you mean?”

Gibbs shrugged, “You said it.”

“They might be right,” said Tony.

“So, NCIS have all these resources.”

“Again, so?”

“You must be tired of waiting for days for evidence to be processed,” said Gibbs, “You’ve had a taste of what a federal agency can achieve.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Special Agent Gibbs.”

“You’re not stupid, DiNozzo.  You know what I mean,” said Gibbs impatiently.

“Say it,” demanded Tony.

“Come and work for NCIS.  We could do with good people.  And you’re good.  And it will get you away from the _weirdness_.”

“And I’d be on your team?” asked Tony.

“I’d ask for you,” said Gibbs.

“And I get the feeling that you get what you ask for,” mused Tony.

“Mostly,” admitted Gibbs.

Tony put the last mouthful of eggs in his mouth and swallowed the remains of his soda.  He stood up and threw some cash on to the table.  “I’ll pay this time, Special Agent Gibbs.”

Gibbs nodded, “So, I’ll see you at the Navy Yard on Monday.”

“Hell no,” said Tony, “I don’t run.  I had a hand in what happened here, I’ll stay and see it through.”

“OK,” said Gibbs after a pause, “You can come when you’re ready. When you’ve _seen it through._ ”

“Thanks for the offer, Special Agent Gibbs.  But … well, it’d be …”

“Weird?” suggested Gibbs.

“Yeah.  I like working here.  If I left to come work for you, I’d always associate you with what went wrong here.  No hard feeling, eh?”

“You’d turn down the chance of working for a federal agency because of some lame ass memories?”

“You want the truth?”

“That’d be good,” said Gibbs.

“OK.  I’ve worked with you for what? 3 ... 4 days?  Somehow I think that’s enough for a lifetime.  So, thanks but no thanks.”

And he smiled before walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never really bought into the idea that Tony wouldn’t have done something when he knew that Danny was a dirty cop – walking away seemed a little out of character. So this version of meeting Gibbs ‘fixes’ that.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a hiss as Jethro Gibbs trod a little too close to the sidewalk artist’s work as he strode towards his destination.  Gibbs turned back, not to apologise but to acknowledge his transgression, but the words died in his mouth as he was met by a pungent and unpleasant odour.  Changing his mind, he tossed a quarter into the cardboard box placed there for the purpose and then clapped his hand over his mouth and pushed through the door.

“Jethro,” said Agent Fornell, “This is a surprise.”

“Is it?” asked Jethro.  “Well, it shouldn’t have been.  You’re staking out a Navy lieutenant.  You must have figured I’d have shown up.”

“I guess,” said Fornell.  “And you know the FBI always appreciates the input of NCIS.”

“In that case,” said Gibbs brusquely, “I’d say you should get rid of that guy sitting on the sidewalk.”

Tobias frowned, “The sidewalk artist?  He was here before we arrived.  Metro told us he’s been there a few days.  He doesn’t cause any trouble so we decided it was best to leave him.  You know that stakeouts work best if you leave things as undisturbed as possible.”

“Huh.  Wouldn’t have anything to do with him smelling like something the cat dragged in … three weeks ago?  And you not wanting to go anywhere near him?”

Tobias grinned in acknowledgement, “Possibly,” he conceded.  “So, Jethro, what are you really doing here?”

Gibbs took a sip of his ever present coffee and said, “You’re observing a Navy lieutenant, Fornell.  Where else would I be?”

Tobias looked askance at him and took a sip of his own coffee.  NCIS and FBI agent stared at each other combatively.  Fornell caved first, as Gibbs knew he would; he smiled inwardly at the thought that Fornell really should train his Director better.

FLASHBACK

“Gibbs!”

Gibbs looked up from his desk and saw Director Tom Morrow standing in front of him.  Gibbs sighed, he was in no mood for a discussion about recruitment.

“Sir?”

“I was speaking to the Director of the FBI yesterday.”

“Yes?”

“It was a conference to discuss inter-agency co-operation.

Gibbs didn’t know which look was appropriate: one of commiseration or one which conveyed distress at not being invited himself.  As he couldn’t decide, he settled for his default look of stoic endurance.  Fortunately, the Director did not seem to expect any other response and continued,

“He told me that Agent Fornell is trying out a local detective for his team.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, and I thought you might want to go and see what he’s like.”

“Sir?”

“You can’t work on your own, Gibbs - Stan Burley left nearly 3 months ago.”

“I’m looking, Sir,” said Gibbs virtuously.

“Well, go and look at what Fornell’s got,” said the Director.  He saw Gibbs’ mouth open and he hurried on, “You and Agent Fornell have a lot in common.  Seems to me that someone he picked might be OK for you too.”

Gibbs’ instinct was to refuse but his second thought was that the Director had a point: he and Fornell had similar approaches so someone handpicked by Tobias might suit the MCRT as well.  He began to think that inter-agency conferences had some value after all.

“Yes, Sir,” he said.

“You’ll find Agent Fornell in a book shop on the corner of Lawrence and 15th Street NE.”

“Sir?”

“The Director told me that they’ve set up a stakeout to get information on a drugs ring and it looks as if Navy Lieutenant Felix Groves is involved in some way.  They’ve taken over a book store opposite to what they think is the drugs ring’s centre of operations.”

“Since when?” growled Gibbs.

“Two days,” said Morrow.  “And don’t growl like that.  They didn’t know they were going to catch someone from the Navy.  And they told us.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  “I’ll go check it out.”  He stood up and slammed his creds and weapon into place and strode out.”

Morrow grinned as he watched him go, he hoped he wouldn’t be getting an irate call from the FBI Director later that day.

END FLASHBACK

Tobias sighed, “We didn’t know that Groves was involved,” he said.  “You know we’d have told you if there was Navy involvement.”

“Yeah.  If you thought we’d find out about it,” said Gibbs.

“I should have known better,” said Fornell, “After all you are the poster boy for not stepping over NCIS boundaries.”

“Whatever,” said Gibbs.  “So, what you got?”

“Felix Groves has visited the apartment opposite three times in the past two days.  All at different times.  On each occasion we’ve seen him either carrying a package in and leaving without it or the other way around.  He doesn’t have family living in the building and, as far as we’ve been able to find out, no friends or other connection either.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  He looked around and saw a tall, rangy young man who he didn’t recognise as being on Fornell’s team although he looked like a cop.

“He new?” he asked.

Tobias frowned, “Why do you want to know?”

“Friendly enquiry,” said Jethro blandly.

“Friendly?” said Fornell sceptically.

“Sure.  You know how keen our Directors are on inter-agency co-operation.  And it’s always good to know who’s on your team.  Might stop me shooting them.”

Tobias ground out a reluctant laugh, “Good to know you’re a reformed character, Jethro.  I’m not sure if he’s one of mine yet.  I’ve borrowed him …”

“Borrowed him?”

“Sure.  He works for Metro PD but wants to take a step up.  It was the Director’s idea.”

“What was?”

“Giving cops from other forces a sort of trial, an induction period before making them a formal offer.  Director figures it would be efficient.”

“How so?”

“Gives both sides an opportunity to test things out.  You’ve got to admit, Jethro, that it’s a big jump and sometimes cops don’t work out.  This way nobody burns any boats before they have to.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” said Gibbs.

“Relies on having good relations with local forces,” said Tobias blandly but with a hint of smugness as if he suspected that Gibbs might not have the kind of relationships required.

“Hmm,” said Gibbs looking at the tall guy and wondering what Tobias had spotted in him.  The young man seemed to sense he was being watched and he flashed a toothy grin at Gibbs.  “His suit looks too good to be FBI,” commented Gibbs.

“But OK for NCIS?” said Fornell incredulously.  “Because you set such a stellar example of sartorial splendour?”

“A stellar example of what?” asked Gibbs.

“You heard.”  He saw Gibbs still looking at the detective.  “Hands off, Gibbs.  I saw him first.  Go find your own detective.”

“Mind if I hang around?” asked Jethro.

“You wound me,” said Tobias.  “Do you really think I’d arrest Lt Groves without telling you first?”

“Let’s just say I’m saving you from yourself.”

Gibbs spotted a shelf of books about boat building and historic ships and went over to browse.  He stayed there so silently and unobtrusively that the FBI agents and the detective forgot he was there.  Gibbs waited until the detective, who seemed rather fidgety, drew near.

“Hey,” he said genially.

“Hey,” came the reply.

“I’m Special Agent Jethro Gibbs.”

“I know you are.  Agent Fornell pointed you out.”

“And you are?” asked Gibbs.

The detective grinned, “Ah, well, Agent Fornell told me not to tell you.”

“He did?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Why?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“And you always do what you’re told?”

The grin came back.  “Not always.  But I want to keep on the right side of Agent Fornell so, in this case, I’m willing to make an exception.”

“Hmm.  Fornell said you’re a detective.”

“That’s right.”

“Looking for a change?”

“Could be.  I’m keeping my options open.”  The eyes narrowed slightly as if Gibbs was being weighed up.

“Hey!” said Fornell.  He had spotted Gibbs talking to the detective and hastened to break up the conversation.  He jerked his head at the detective, “Go for a walk.  See if anyone’s about.”

“Yes, Sir,” said the detective, “Pleasure to meet you,” he said to Gibbs.

Gibbs nodded non-committally but watched the young man as he walked away.  He noticed that he paused to speak to the sidewalk artist and Gibbs found himself approving that he didn’t draw back from the smell.  To Gibbs, that spoke of dedication and focus.

“Hands off, Jethro,” said Tobias.

“Relax, Tobias,” said Jethro.  “I’m not looking to recruit.”

“That’s not what your Director says.”

“You leave Morrow to me,” said Gibbs.  “Looks fit,” he added.

“Who?”

“The guy on the sidewalk,” said Gibbs sarcastically, “Your detective.  Looks as if he’s an athlete.”

“Played varsity football,” conceded Tobias reluctantly.

“Can run fast then,” said Gibbs.

“Find your own, Jethro,” said Tobias.

“Street artist said a van’s just pulled around the back,” said the detective as he came back in.

“Why?” asked Gibbs.

“I don’t know why.  I’m just telling you,” said the detective.

“Not the van,” said Gibbs impatiently.  “Why did the artist tell you?”

“He’s got a better view of the alley.  I’ve been chatting to him each time I’ve come in and out.  I don’t reckon many people talk to him so he’s warmed up to me.  I got taught things like that in the Academy.”

“Good work, Detective,” said Fornell.

“And the smell doesn’t bother you?” asked Gibbs.  _He_ wouldn’t let a bad smell get in the way of a job and he was curious to see if the detective felt the same.

“Smell?” came the reply. “Didn’t really notice, Sir.”

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully but he allowed Fornell to shuffle him off in the direction of the coffee machine.

NCISNCIS

The stakeout continued for another two days.  Gibbs continued to make periodic visits to the shop and continued to garner hisses of disapproval from the street artist who did not seem to warm up to him despite continued donations of spare nickels and dimes.

Gibbs saw Felix Groves pay two visits to the building opposite the shop and had to agree with Fornell that it didn’t look good for him.  Gibbs had had NCIS look into the lieutenant’s background; his record was clean but he wasn’t an exemplary officer with his superiors having doubts about his commitment.

Fornell still managed to keep the new detective away from Gibbs but that didn’t stop the young man from waving and smiling cheekily at Gibbs.  Gibbs had tried to put out feelers with local police to try and find out the detective’s name but he didn’t get a lot of co-operation: he had ridden roughshod too often to have made many friends in the Metro area.

On the fourth day, Gibbs arrived around lunch time and, after the usual smell at the door, encountered something rather more pleasant when he got inside.

“What’s that?” he asked.

For once, Fornell wasn’t guarding the detective, “I brought pasta in from home,” the young man said, “You want some?”

“Might as well, Jethro,” said Tobias as he made a hasty appearance, “It’s good.”

“I’m Italian,” said the detective.  “Of course it’s good.”

“Last chance,” said Fornell, “We’re raiding tonight.  Got enough intel.”

“Street artist still coming up with the goods?” asked Gibbs.

“Not much,” said Fornell.

“I want in on the raid,” said Gibbs firmly.

“OK,” said Fornell, “But you do what you’re told.”

“Always,” said Gibbs.

“Yeah, right,” said Fornell.  “Now, you want some of this pasta before I eat it all?”

Gibbs grunted and agreed.  As he tasted the pasta he began to think of unexpected advantages to this method of recruitment.  A few minutes later, he left the shop for the day.  As he left he was aware not only of the noxious smell but the street artist’s eyes staring after him.

That night, just before the raid, Gibbs found an opportunity to stand next to the detective.  “Here’s my card.  Come see me at NCIS, we can talk about you joining us.”

The detective smiled with pleasure and his eyes shone, “Thank you.  I’ll think about it, Agent Gibbs.”

Gibbs nodded but there was no time for further talk as Fornell gave the signal for the raid to begin.

The raid went well and it became clear that Felix Groves was heavily involved with the drugs ring: it seemed that his superiors had been right to question his commitment.  The young detective managed to get himself knocked out and had to go to hospital with a concussion.  Word soon came through that he would be fine but would need to take a couple of days out sick.  Gibbs smiled to himself as he left the scene; he would deny being pleased that the detective had been hurt but he was pleased to have a couple of days breathing space.  He would give it a day and then pay a visit to the hospital.

NCISNCIS

“Jethro,” said Fornell, the next day when Gibbs arrived for a visit, “We must stop meeting like this.”

“Fornell,” said Jethro.  “Came to let you know that the Norfolk Case Officer has done some digging and it looks as if Lt Groves was in the process of setting up some sort of drugs ring there as well.  Looks like we’ll be working on this for a while.”

Fornell managed to hide any pleasure he felt at this news.

“I’ll let you know the details,” said Gibbs as he turned to do.  As he turned, however, he noticed a tall young man sitting at the desk next to Fornell’s.  Gibbs almost did a double take as he thought the young detective was already back at work.

Fornell saw the glance and smiled, a slightly feral smile.

Gibbs looked closer and sighed with relief as he realised this was a different young man, “Building up quite a team, aren’t you, Tobias?” he queried.  With the Director’s homily about inter-agency co-operation ringing in his ears he decided to be polite and stretched out his hand to the stranger, “Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, NCIS.  We haven’t met.”

The other man stood and smiled, “Well,” he said, “We have met.  Technically … but we haven’t been introduced.”  He took Gibbs’ hand, “Anthony DiNozzo.”

Gibbs stared at him but didn’t recognise him.

Tony grinned and picked up an aerosol from his desk.  Gibbs looked on in puzzlement and then heard a familiar hiss.  He looked at Tony again and realised that the eyes looked familiar.

“You’re …”

“The street artist,” supplied Fornell.

“It’s all right,” said Tony, “The aerosol is empty now.”

Gibbs blinked as he connected the dots.  The ‘hiss of disapproval’ had actually been the hiss of air escaping the aerosol and emitting the noxious smell.

“I’d apologise,” said Tony, “But Agent Fornell tells me you have a rule against it.  It was a good way of keeping people at bay.”

“It sure was,” said Gibbs.  He turned to Fornell, “You didn’t tell me he worked for you.”

“You didn’t ask,” said Fornell.  “We sent DiNozzo in a few days ahead of time to scope things out.  Turned out that he had a good view of things and so we left him there.”

“Huh,” Gibbs shrugged.

“Tony,” said Fornell affably, “Why don’t you escort Agent Gibbs out?”

Tony and Gibbs both looked puzzled.

“New regs,” said Fornell, “Security is tightening up on access to the building.”

“This way, Agent Gibbs,” said Tony politely.

“I know the way,” said Gibbs, “No need to roll out a red carpet.”

“Of course not,” murmured Tony, “I expect you know the office better than I do.”

Gibbs didn’t go in for small talk but recognised that Tony wanted a question to be asked, “How long have you worked for the FBI?” he asked.

Tony looked at his watch, “About nine hours.”

“Nine hours?”

“About that.  The paperwork went through at midnight.  So I’m now officially an FBI special agent,” Tony beamed at Gibbs.

“But you were working on the stakeout,” said Gibbs.

“I was on secondment,” said Tony.  “It’s a new idea … you see … sometimes the move from cop to …”

“You were a cop?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes.  I applied to the FBI and they suggested this new way of recruitment.  The secondment period went well and it was agreed that I’d transfer.”

“From Metro?”

“No,” said Tony in surprise, “I was with Baltimore PD.”

“I see,” said Gibbs, “You did good work on the stakeout.  Must have been hard sitting out there all day, every day in all that weather.”

Tony shrugged, “It’s what the job needed.”  He looked at Gibbs, “The job comes first.”

Gibbs nodded.  “That other young guy, he didn’t seem to mind the smell when he talked to you.”

Tony frowned, “Oh, you mean Primo.”

“Primo?”

“Yeah, Primo Monteleone.  He was good, sure.  I made sure not to spray when he was near.  He’s good, a bit green.  And not very observant, he should have seen that guy standing waiting for him with a lump of wood and he never seemed to pick up that I was very obliging for a down and out street artist.  Still, we all have to start somewhere.  I’m sure you remember stupid things you’ve done, Agent Gibbs.”  He seemed to sense Gibbs’ disapproval, “Or not.  I get the feeling you’ve never done anything stupid.”

“Maybe not,” admitted Gibbs.

The elevator reached the ground floor.  “Nice to meet you, Agent Gibbs.  I’d have introduced myself before but Agent Fornell wanted to keep my cover going.  Oh, there’s Agent Fornell.  He must have forgotten something.  Well, I’ll say goodbye.  I expect we’ll meet again.”  He waited till Gibbs had left the elevator and then pressed the button to close the doors behind him.  The last Gibbs saw of him was another cheery smile.

“Tobias?” growled Gibbs.

Tobias grinned and held up his hands in surrender, “You’d have done the same, Jethro.  When the Director told me he’d let slip about my _new recruit_ , I knew you’d be sniffing around.  I had to protect my investment.”

“DiNozzo?”

“He’s good, Jethro.  He’s the real deal.  I couldn’t risk you getting to him before he was signed, sealed and delivered!”

“And what about the other one, Primo …”

“Monteleone?  Borrowed him from Metro.  Think his lieutenant - Cheney, was glad to see the back of him for a few days.”

 Gibbs scowled at Fornell but then a laugh was forced out of him as he realised he’d been played, and played well.

“No hard feelings?” said Fornell hopefully.

“It’s not over yet,” said Gibbs warningly.  “I’m still looking to recruit.”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Fornell, “Once Tony realises how good it is to work for me, he won’t want to leave.”

“Hah,” said Gibbs, “Then I do stand a chance.”

“Wanna bet on it?” asked Fornell.

“Don’t know, Fornell, it’d be like taking candy from a baby.”

“I’ll risk it,” said Fornell, “What do you say?”

“Damn,” said Gibbs suddenly.

“What?” asked Fornell, “We don’t have to bet if you don’t want.”

“Not that,” scowled Gibbs, “I gave Monteleone my card and told him to come talk to me about a job.”

A look of pure delight crossed Fornell’s face.  Fortunately for him, the elevator arrived at that moment and he seized his chance to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Season 2 episode ‘Doppelganger’ we were introduced to a MCRT 'mirror’ Metro team consisting of Lt Cheney and, among others, Detective Primo Monteleone. It was fun to recycle those characters.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Ahem.”

Gibbs and his team looked up.  It was never a good sign when Director Vance coughed in that particular way.

Gibbs sighed, “What now, Leon?”

The Director scratched his neck absentmindedly, “SecNav is sending …”

“Director, we don’t need another shrink trying to get inside our heads,” said Gibbs.

The MCRT had recently spent five weeks tracking down a group of people who had been stealing bodies from morgues and using them to terrify people into paying ransoms for the release of what they thought were loved ones they had lost touch with.  They had done terrible things to the cadavers which had made people think their missing relatives were being tortured.  The successful conclusion of the case had only happened after Agents McGee and Gibbs had been captured and held in a makeshift morgue where body parts were being stored.  Their kidnappers had been getting ready to kill the two NCIS agents when they had been rescued at the last minute.

SecNav had been concerned about the effect of all this on her premier team and so had insisted that the MCRT receive psychological counselling: this had gone as well as such counselling usually went and a third psychiatrist had been shown the door two days before.

“Don’t worry,” said the Director, “The Navy’s run out of psychiatrists,” he paused for thought and then, because he always strove for accuracy, “Or at least of ones prepared to come and talk to you.”

Gibbs nodded with satisfaction.

“No, this is a dermatologist,” said Vance.  He scratched his neck once more and looked at the team.  He wasn’t surprised to see a look of relief on their faces as they all scratched various parts of their anatomies.

“The Navy has dermatologists?” asked Agent Ellie Bishop.

“Sure,” said Agent McGee, “Sailors get rashes too.”  He scratched his face.

“Quit scratching, McGee,” ordered Gibbs although his fingers twitched as if they wanted to do some more scratching of their own.

“I can order some mittens,” came a voice from the direction of the elevator.  It was a cheerful, carefree voice.  The MCRT and the Director looked towards its owner; cheerfulness and lightedheartedness had been in short supply in the squad room for some time.  The accurate Leon Vance would have conceded that the MCRT was never renowned for its joie-de-vivre.

“What?” demanded Gibbs.

“Mittens.  My grandmother used to tie them on our hands if we got a rash.  Stops you scratching.”

“My Mom used to do the same,” chipped in Ellie.  Gibbs’ eyes swivelled towards her and she lapsed into silence.  She rubbed her hand against her leg.

“And you are?” demanded Gibbs of the newcomer.

“Lieutenant Anthony DiNozzo.  You can call me Tony.”  He stretched his hand out towards Gibbs but then withdrew it, “No, better not shake hands until I’ve identified what the problem is.  It’s embarrassing when the dermatologist gets infected by the patient.  Doesn’t exactly build trust.”  He chuckled.

“Lieutenant …” began Gibbs.

“Tony … please.”

“Lieutenant,” continued Gibbs, “We don’t need your services.”

McGee and Bishop began half-heartedly to object but guessed there was no point.

The lieutenant seemed to hear them and directed a beaming smile at them.

“I’m guessing you’re Agent Gibbs?” he said.  He received a curt nod in acknowledgement.  “Don’t worry, Agent Gibbs, this won’t take long.  I’ll be out of your hair as quick as I can.”  His eyes drifted to Gibbs’ marine haircut and the thought was obvious – it really wouldn’t take long to get out of that hair.  “Now, Agent Gibbs, I know you’re all very busy but I’m under orders from the Secretary of the Navy …” he giggled, “And I never thought I’d say those words.  My Mom will be proud when I tell her about this.”

“Your Mom?” asked Gibbs in an icy tone.

“Well, sure.  I write home every week.  Usually on a Sunday.  Seems to be a quiet, reflective sort of day.  What day do you write home, Agent Gibbs?”  The lieutenant looked at Gibbs appraisingly, “Although I guess … I’m sorry, Agent Gibbs, perhaps your mother is no longer with us?  I don’t know how I’ll manage when I don’t have my Mom to call on.”  His eyes clouded over at the thought.

The drum of Gibbs’ fingers on his desk seemed to recall the lieutenant from his reverie.  “But there’s no need to borrow trouble.  That’s what my grandmother used to say.  Not the one who tied mittens on our hands but my paternal grandmother.  She was full of homespun wisdom … you know the sort of thing.”

“Keep me apprised, Lieutenant,” said Director Vance before beating a strategic retreat.

“Yes, of course, Sir,” said DiNozzo.  He leaned forward conspiratorially, “Was that Director Vance?”

He got another brusque nod from Gibbs.

“Excellent,” said Tony.  He seemed to pick up on a cooling of the atmosphere, “Right.  I guess we should get to work.  You’re busy and so am I.”

“You are?” said McGee.

Tony turned to look at him, “Yes.  It’s surprising how busy dermatologists are.  You know, when I was a med student trying to decide on my speciality I landed on dermatology because I thought I’d never get called out in the middle of the night.  What sort of emergencies could there possibly be?  And here I am, called out to deal with a problem with the Major Case Response Team.  I never expected that.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Gibbs disapprovingly.

The sarcasm seemed to sail over the lieutenant’s head, “That’s very insightful of you, Agent Gibbs.  I can tell this is going to be a good assignment.  I’ll have lots to write in my letter home.  And you know, to be truthful, there isn’t always a lot to put in those letters.  People don’t always want to know the details of rashes and skin eruptions.”

“Really,” drawled Gibbs.

“Really,” said Tony.  “Even my own mother.  Still, one man’s spot is another man’s …”

“Another man’s what?” asked Ellie.

“I don’t know,” confessed DiNozzo, “Sometimes I find myself starting a sentence without knowing where it’s going to end.”  He smiled vacantly.

“Hey!” barked Gibbs.

“Excuse me?” asked Tony.

He got a stare in response.

“Of course, silly me,” he giggled, “Sec Nav told me that you all seem to be suffering from itchy rashes.”

“Yes,” said Gibbs, apparently mollified by a brief response.

“Well,” began Tony.

“And it’s not psychosomatic,” said Gibbs warningly.

“What?” asked Tony.

“It’s not in our heads,” said McGee helpfully.

“Oh,” said Tony.

“No, it’s on our skin,” said the usually amiable Ellie crossly.

“I see.  And when did it start?”

“Yesterday,” they all said.

“May I have a look?” asked Tony.

Ellie and McGee promptly got up and bared their arms to the doctor.

“Eew,” said Tony, “That looks nasty.  Does it …”

“It itches,” said Ellie plaintively.

“And it burns,” added Tim.

“And you, Agent Gibbs.  What does yours look like?”

Gibbs sighed and showed his arm to Tony who shuddered.  Ellie, Tim and Gibbs raised their eyebrows; somehow the new doctor didn’t inspire confidence.

Tony rummaged in his bag and produced a magnifying glass, “Old fashioned tools can be the best,” he said, “And this is from my great uncle.  He wasn’t a dermatologist.  He was a watchmaker and he needed to be able …”

“Hey!” said Gibbs, “We don’t need a running commentary.”

“Thank you, Agent Gibbs,” said Tony placidly, “It’s always good to get input from the patient.  I’m working on developing my bedside manner, you know.  Although of course, dermatologists don’t often have to go a patient’s bedside.  It’s just a manner of speaking.  You know …”

Gibbs coughed.

“But I can see that in this case you prefer a more direct approach.”  Tony peered at Ellie’s arm, then moved to Tim and then, with an apologetic look, returned to Gibbs.  He then went back to his bag and drew out some swabs and plastic cases.  “I’ll take some swabs,” he said and proceeded to do so.  He opened his mouth to speak at one point but seemed to think better of it.  Ellie and Tim applauded (inwardly) his common-sense.

Finally, Tony stood up.  “I understand that you have all had a stressful few weeks,” he said.

“I told you.  It’s not psychosomatic,” said Gibbs.

“Not in your heads.  Yes, I know, I remember you saying,” said Tony.

“How do you know?” asked Tim.

“What?  That it’s not in your head?  Well, you told me,” said Tony.

“No,” said Ellie, “That we’ve had a difficult time?”

“Oh,” said Tony, “Lieutenant McLaren mentioned it.  And Commander Green …”

“Commander Green was nice,” said Ellie wistfully.

“And Lieutenant McLaren, and the other one,” said Tim sadly as they both looked back to the psychiatrists who had beaten retreats.

“I told them to use baking soda and vinegar,” said Gibbs.

“What?” asked Tony.

“Baking soda and vinegar.  Make it into a paste and slap it on.  The rash.”

“I see.  Well, that’s interesting,” said Tony politely.  “And have you used it?”

“I got willpower,” said Gibbs.

“That’s admirable, Agent Gibbs.  And it’s probably made you into the leader you are today,” Tony gazed benignly at Gibbs who looked at him suspiciously.

“So what do we have?” asked Ellie interrupting what felt like a standoff.

“I’m not sure,” said Tony.

Gibbs sighed.

“It’s either Dyshidrotic Seborrheic Erysipelas or Erythodermic Pemphigoid Hemangioma with Necrotizing Fasciitis,” said Tony, “It’s fascinating.”

“Uh,” said McGee, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Oh, it isn’t,” said Tony.  “And it’s highly contagious.  You’ll all have to be moved to a clean environment.  This room will have to be deep cleaned and we’ll send special teams to your homes for disinfecting.”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“I’m afraid so, Agent Gibbs,” said Tony.  “I’ll have to debrief you all very carefully about everywhere you’ve been recently so we can isolate where you picked up this condition.  It could be very serious.”

“This is crazy,” said Gibbs, “It’s an itch!”

“A bad itch,” said Tim.

“A really bad itch,” said Ellie.

“We’ve got work to do,” said Gibbs, “We can’t go off to this clean place for debriefing.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist, Agent Gibbs,” said Tony, “It would be irresponsible to ignore this.  I wouldn’t want to think of the consequences if we don’t cure this.”

“Uh … doctor?” said McGee, “What might they be?”

Tony shuddered, “If it’s what I think it is … well, the consequences are worse for men than women.”

“They are?” said Ellie a little more cheerfully.

“Yes,” said Tony, “In extreme cases it’s led to certain … parts of the body … er …”

“Er what?” asked Tim.

“Shrivelling … and then …”

“And then?” prompted Tim again.

“Falling off,” said Tony.  And he stared at the region just below Tim’s belt.  Tim got the picture and winced.

Strangely, Gibbs did not voice any more objections about going into isolation.

NCISNCIS

As they arrived at the clean house, Tim stumbled and nearly dropped the cup of coffee he was carrying for Gibbs.  Gibbs’ hand shot out in readiness to deliver an admonitory head slap but, to his shock, Tony’s hand reached out and stopped him, “Agent Gibbs,” he said, “It would be most unwise for you to touch Agent McGee’s hair.  Who knows how many germs could be transmitted in that way?”  He smiled sweetly and led them all into the house.

“There are four bedrooms, each with bathrooms,” he announced.  “There’s a sun room at the back of the house looking out onto fields.  There’s also an indoor swimming pool …”

“We won’t be able to use that though,” said Ellie.

“Why not?” asked Tony.

“Wouldn’t it spread germs?” she asked.

“Ah, ordinarily you’d be right,” said Tony, “But in this case the pool has been treated with disinfectant.  It’ll be perfectly safe.  In fact,” he said, cheering up, “It would probably be beneficial.”  He beamed in a way they had become accustomed to.  “The kitchen is through there; the cupboards are well stocked but we can call for takeout if we need to.  There’s a TV in each bedroom and a large screen TV in the lounge along with DVDs and games.  We want you to feel at home.”

“Bet there’s not a basement,” muttered Tim.

“What was that?” asked Tony.

“Uh, Agent Gibbs is building a boat in his basement,” said Ellie.

“Is he?” said Tony.  “Perhaps there will be something to put in my letter home after all.”

Gibbs growled.

“Now,” said Tony, “Why don’t you go and make yourselves comfortable?  Then, Agent Bishop I will debrief you.  Then Agent McGee and then I’ll come find you, Agent Gibbs.”

Some hours later, Tony sought out Gibbs in the sun room where he was sitting gazing out across the fields.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked.

“Hmph,” said Gibbs.

“It is supposed to be soothing, you know – engaging with the beauties of Mother Nature.”

“What you want?” asked Gibbs.

“I have spoken to both Ellie and Tim about what has happened to your team recently.  You know, trying to isolate where you may have picked up the infection,” said Tony.

“Infection?”

“I fear so.  The strictest hygiene is needed around dead bodies and I fear you may not have been able to stick to the required regimen at all times.”

“Bishop wasn’t the one kidnapped,” objected Gibbs, “She can’t have picked anything up from the body parts.”

“No,” said Tony, “But Erythodermic Pemphigoid Hemangioma with Necrotizing Fasciitis can be highly infectious.  You or Tim might have passed it on to her.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.

“So, I’ve heard their accounts.  Now, I’d like to hear it from you.”

“I’m not telling you how I felt about it all,” said Gibbs.

“Of course not.”

“You’re not going to get inside my head and walk around.”

“I’m a dermatologist, Agent Gibbs.  I wouldn’t know what to do inside your head and somehow I don’t think I’d be welcome.”

“OK,” said Gibbs with something like a wry grin, “McGee and I were held in their morgue for about six hours.”

“Was it cold?”

“It was a morgue.  Of course it was cold.”

“I see.  And how big was the space?”

“Just about room for me and McGee to sit on the floor.  We couldn’t lie down.  And there were body parts on the floor and hanging from the walls.”

“So it was cramped?”

“I just said so.”

“Of course.  Do you like cramped spaces?”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“Well, some people don’t mind them, it makes them feel safe and secure,” said Tony, “Going back to the womb.”

“Don’t know many wombs with bits of dead body in them,” said Gibbs.

“So you weren’t comfortable with the situation?”

“Comfortable?  Of course, I wasn’t comfortable.  I’d been locked up in a morgue with bits of dead people and threatened that I’d end up in bits myself!  Of course I wasn’t comfortable.”

“I see.  And did you begin to perspire?”

“What?”

“Well, you have said it was cold in your place of confinement.  And that would seem to discount the idea that your rash is a heat rash.”

“Heat rash?”

“It’s important to rule all possibilities out,” said Tony primly.  “So were you perspiring for some other reason?”

“Why’s the perspiration important?”

“If it was there, it could be a means of transmitting spores, or germs or virus …” said Tony.

“I guess I sweated a bit,” said Gibbs.

“But not from heat?” said Tony.  Gibbs growled and Tony made a note.  “Then do you think you perspired out of fear or alarm?”

“Why does that matter?” asked Gibbs.

“If you didn’t perspire from fear or alarm then it might be that you had already picked up the infection.  That could be important.  Tell me, Agent Gibbs, have you ever been in a similar situation?”

“What, stuck in a room with bodies?”

“Well, not exactly.  But perhaps being stuck in a small room with little prospect of survival.  We could perhaps correlate your physical reaction to both situations and see if there is a connection.”  Tony sensed Gibbs’ hesitation, “It could help us find a remedy for Tim and Ellie.”

“There was a time,” said Gibbs reluctantly, “When I was isolated behind enemy lines.  I’d taken shelter in a dugout but it collapsed in on me.  Me and another Marine were able to get into the back before it all fell in but then we were trapped.”

“For how long?”

“Two days.  We ran out of food and water.  Didn’t have the energy to dig ourselves out although we tried for hours to start with.”

“But you got out?”

“Yeah,” Gibbs stared unseeingly out across the fields, “The Captain wouldn’t stop looking for us.  Found us just as the air was beginning to run out.”

“Did being in the morgue make you feel the same way?”

There was a pause, “Yes, I guess it did.  Although it didn’t go on for so long.  But I guess I felt hot, like I did in the desert even though the morgue was cold.  And the smell was similar.”

“Smells can bring back memories.”

“Yeah.  Other men had died in the dugout.  Smell stayed around.  I’d forgotten.”

“What had you forgotten?”

“The smell.  Then.  The fear.”

“But you were rescued?”

“Yes.”

“Both times?”

“I guess.”

“You had good people looking for you then.  And you’ve got good people looking out for you now, Agent Gibbs.”

Gibbs continued to look out the window and then shook himself, “What’s this got to do with our rash?”

“Probably nothing,” said Tony, “Probably nothing.”

NCISNCIS

The next day Tony said that the individual accounts had been interesting but hadn’t told him what he needed to do so he suggested that the three agents go over their stories together to see what they might have missed out.  “I’ll just listen,” he said, “Pretend I’m not here.  Just talk.”

And with nothing else to do, that’s what they did.  Tony took notes from his seat in the corner and occasionally prompted if the conversation flagged.  After an hour or so, he drew the session to a halt,

“Thank you.  That’s given me enough to go on with.  Why don’t you go and get some lunch?  Oh, and use this ointment – I think it might help.”

“Wow, I feel really tired after that,” said Ellie.

“Yeah. But in a good way,” said Tim.

Gibbs looked closely at Tony but didn’t say anything.  He followed his agents out to the kitchen.

The MCRT stayed in the ‘clean’ house for another two days.  Tony dropped in to see them periodically and asked them to let him know if they thought of anything else about the case.  On the third day, he announced that he thought the danger of infection had passed and they could leave the house and return to normality.

“Keep using the cream as you need it,” he advised them.

“So, what did we have, Doc?” asked Gibbs.

Tony shrugged, “I don’t know, Agent Gibbs.  Skin conditions can be mysterious; we may never know.  But the important thing is that we stopped it spreading.”

“I feel great,” said Ellie, “Almost like I’ve been on vacation.”

“Me too,” said Tim.

“That’s a useful side effect,” said Tony, “An unlooked for benefit.  The silver lining to the cloud.  The gold at the …”

“Let’s go,” said Gibbs as he tired of the lieutenant’s rhetoric.

“Thanks, Tony,” said Ellie.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Tim, “And thanks for the tips about Poison Ivy.  And nervous hives,” he looked meaningfully towards Gibbs.

“My pleasure,” said Tony, “You’ve got my number.  Call if you need help … with a dermatological question.”

“Today!” barked Gibbs from the door.

The team scurried to catch him up.

NCISNCIS

“Lieutenant DiNozzo,” said Gibbs as he sat down next to Tony with a cup of coffee.  It was a few days later and Gibbs had tracked Tony down to a café close to the Navy Yard. 

Tony looked up.

“Or should I say, _Captain_ DiNozzo,” said Gibbs as he looked at the insignia on the uniform.

“Agent Gibbs,” said Tony, “This is a pleasure.”

“An unexpected pleasure?” asked Gibbs.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Tony, “Somehow I don’t think anything would be unexpected where you’re concerned.”

“I looked you up,” said Gibbs.

“I thought you might.”

“You’re not a dermatologist.”

“I did a rotation in dermatology,” said Tony, “And it’s interesting.”

“And your mother is dead.”

“True.”

“And not from boredom from reading all those Sunday letters,” said Gibbs.

Tony grinned in acknowledgement.

“And you’re actually a psychiatrist,” said Gibbs.

Tony raised his mug as a sign of agreement.

“You care to tell me what the hell was going on?”

“Agent Gibbs, you and your team scared off three of my co-workers.  We had to find another way of getting you all to talk about your experiences.”

“Talk!” said Gibbs contemptuously, “Why do psychiatrists always think we need to talk?”

Tony shrugged, “It’s what we do.  And do you deny that you feel better for having talked?”

It was Gibbs’ turn to shrug.

“And even if you can manage without the psychological help, perhaps your team can’t.  And your attitude prevents them from seeking it.  This way, you were all _enabled_ to talk things through.  And have a break.”

“And why come as a dermatologist?”

“The least threatening role I could think of.”

“And lieutenant instead of captain?”

“I thought you’d feel more comfortable with someone of lower rank.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  He took a sip of his drink.  “Thank you.”

“That means a lot coming from you,” said Tony.

Gibbs glared at Tony but realised that he was being sincere; that Tony had recognised that the simple words of thanks really were Gibbs’ way of acknowledging a debt.

“It was lucky that we all went down with that rash,” said Gibbs as he stood to go.  He stood with head poised.  The scepticism was clear.

“Yeah,” said Tony. “Or rather it was lucky that Commander Green had that itching powder with him!”

Gibbs laughed and left.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the season 2 episode ‘Heart Break’ Tony mentioned that he had thought about becoming a doctor and had thought about being a dermatologist as it wouldn’t involve any emergencies.


	10. Chapter 10

Jethro Gibbs grinned to himself as he drove towards the Hamerton Summer Camp in South Carolina and thought of the reunion ahead.  As always, however, the happy thought was tinged with bitterness.  Jethro Gibbs’ wife Shannon had been killed ten years before and while he knew he would never quite get over the loss he gave thanks every day that their daughter Kelly had survived the crash which killed her mother.  Gibbs could never think of Kelly without thinking of Shannon but he had learned to live with the overtone of pain.

Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs now worked out of Camp Lejeune in North Carolina as a trainer but had been helping out at Camp Pendleton for two weeks.  In that time Kelly had been at Camp and wasn’t expecting to see her father for another week.  Gibbs’ assignment had been cut short and he had lost no time in making his way to South Carolina.

Gibbs pulled up at the gate and spoke to the man standing watch, he approved their caution,

“Jethro Gibbs.  My daughter Kelly is here,” he said showing them his ID.

The man searched on his computer, “Ah, yes.  Do you want me to put a call out to her?”

Gibbs smiled softly, he preferred the idea of surprising her, “Nah, that’s OK.  But hey, do you know where she is right now?”  He peered at the guy’s name badge, “Sid?”

Sid obligingly looked at his computer again, “They finished lunch about an hour ago.  Nothing scheduled for another hour or so.  But she’s probably by the pool.  That’s where they tend to hang out.  You know where it is?”

“Sure.  Not my first visit.  Thanks, Sid.”

Sid lifted the barrier and Gibbs drove through and found a parking spot.  Kelly had been coming to this camp for five years now and had always enjoyed her time here.  Gibbs walked towards the pool and grinned when he saw a group of teenagers sunbathing on the green outside the dining hall but then he frowned.  A tall young man was standing to one side gazing at the youngsters intently.  Gibbs bristled, there was something he didn’t like about him: he was dressed in shorts and tee and had a large hat pulled down over his eyes, he looked almost predatory as he stood there and it made Gibbs feel uneasy.

Gibbs walked up to him smartly, clicking his heels to make a noise.  The young man looked at him for a second but then returned to his brooding.  Disquiet bubbled to the surface and Gibbs’ hand shot out and delivered a head slap, the hat was dislodged and tumbled to the ground.  As the man hastened to pick it up, Gibbs got a better look at him and realised that he was older than he had first thought, probably nearer 30 than 20.  That made Gibbs even angrier,

“Hey,” barked Gibbs, “Find someone your own age!” and he stalked off.  He could hear the laughter of the teenagers and thought he had probably done enough to scare the pervert off for the moment.  He’d make sure to alert the camp leaders of the potential problem.

Gibbs’ hand tingled as he walked towards the pool.  He was puzzled by the strength of his reaction but found that the young man reminded him of someone.  He tried to track down the memory and realised that he was like a boy who had joined Gibbs’ school in Stillwater for a few months.  He had come from a wealthy family and had somehow looked down on his temporary classmates, he had a habit of looking at people, weighing them up and finding them lacking.  There had been something of that in the way that this guy had been surveying the teenagers.

Memories were set aside as he reached the pool and spotted Kelly sitting with her feet dangling in the water.  She happened to look up as he drew near and she squealed with delight when she saw him.  A moment later and she was hugging him fiercely,

“Daddy!  I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Got out a week early,” said Gibbs as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

“Why didn’t you let me know?” she asked.

“Thought you liked surprises,” said Gibbs.

“Dad!”

“Enjoying yourself?” asked Gibbs.

“Yeah, it’s great.  Some fascinating people here.  It’s fascinating.”

Gibbs rolled his eyes, _fascinating_ was obviously the in word for the summer.

“Hey, come with me to get some coffee,” he said.

“Sure, Dad.  How long is it since your last one?” she asked.

Gibbs grinned again; Kelly tried to run his life for him.  And, he had to admit, that he largely let her.  The troops he trained would be amazed if they could see how smiley and amenable he was with his daughter.

“Because too much caffeine isn’t good for you,” she said earnestly as they walked off arm in arm.  “We had a really fascinating talk about it.  You’d be surprised.”

Gibbs shifted position so his arm was around Kelly’s shoulder and pulled her in tight.  “Missed you,” he whispered.  “Now, tell me what else you’ve been up to.”

It was probably as well that Gibbs was naturally quiet; his daughter rarely gave him a chance to speak and so it was as they sat in the dining hall and caught up.  After Gibbs had drunk two cups of coffee, Kelly said,

“Where are you staying, Daddy?”

“I’ll go into Hamerton.  See if I get a place at the motel.  You want to get dinner with your old man?”

Kelly pretended to consider this option and then nodded brightly, “But you’re not old, Dad.  Well, not very.  You know, you could always dye your hair.”

Gibbs spluttered.

“There are some very safe products out there.  Gentle on the scalp.  It’s important to think of things like that.”

A suspicion crossed Gibbs’ mind, “You’re not thinking of dyeing your hair, are you?”  He reached out and picked up a strand of the red hair he loved so much.

“No-o-o,” said his daughter a little unconvincingly, “But perhaps a streak.  A blonde one …”

Gibbs tilted his head as he considered this.  Perhaps a blonde streak wouldn’t be so bad.

Kelly was adept in reading her father, “Or a blue one,” she offered.  “I’ll go get my purse,” she said into the resulting silence.  “See you by the car in ten.”

Gibbs watched her go and shook his head.  Somehow he wouldn’t be surprised if she had multi-coloured hair within the week.  Still, at least she seemed to be being responsible about products.  He drained the rest of his coffee and went out towards the car.

“Mr Gibbs,” came a voice.

“Sheldon,” said Gibbs, “Good to see you.”

Sheldon Gracey, the camp leader, shook Gibbs’ hand.  “Didn’t think you’d be here until next week.  Nothing wrong is there?”

“Nope.  Just got here earlier than expected.  Kelly looks as if she’s enjoying herself.”

“I wish all our young people were like Kelly.  You know, I’d be willing to offer her a job next year as a counsellor.  She almost does it already.”

“Good to know,” said Gibbs.  “I think she’s found it _fascinating_ this year.”

Sheldon laughed, “Oh, you’ve picked up on that, have you?  Let me tell you …”

But Gibbs’ attention had wandered.  Kelly was about a hundred yards away when her paths crossed with the predatory young man.  As Gibbs watched, he spoke to her and pointed at her shoulder.  He gestured that Kelly should lift the strap to her top and, when she did so, he leant it towards her and reached out a hand.

Gibbs wasn’t as fast as some of the young recruits he trained but he still ran the hundred yards impressively fast.  His right hand shot out and caught the young man squarely on the jaw.  Moments later he was looking at his victim who lay on the ground nursing his face and looking completely out of it.  Gibbs clenched his fists menacingly,

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, “What are you?  Some sort of paedophile?”

NCISNCIS

Gibbs shifted uncomfortably when the young man groaned and opened his eyes.  When his victim saw who was standing beside his bed he tried to back into the wall.

“Er …” said Gibbs.

“Did you hit me?” asked the man. 

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” said Gibbs.

“Misunderstanding?  You mean you _didn’t_ hit me?”

“No, I hit you.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, there was a misunderstanding.”

“And you hit me before, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Was that a misunderstanding too?”

“Yes.”

The young man looked around uneasily as he realised he was alone with a stranger who had already hit him twice.

Gibbs picked up on the unease, “I asked Sheldon … and Kelly … to wait outside.”

“Why?”  The young man tried once more to flatten himself into the wall.

“Well,” Gibbs’ face suddenly flushed red; he felt as awkward as he had when he had first asked Shannon on a date and he didn’t think he’d blushed since that day.

“Well?”

“Sheldon and Kelly explained things when we were bringing you into the infirmary,” said Gibbs.

“What things?”  The patient relaxed slightly as it seemed his attacker was on first name terms with the camp leader.

“Well, you see … I saw you looking at the kids sunbathing …”

“Yeah?”

“And then you spoke to Kelly.  And got her to lift the strap on her top.”

“So you hit me?  Twice?”

“Yes.”

A pair of grey-green eyes surveyed Gibbs thoughtfully.  After an unnerving couple of seconds, Gibbs noticed that the eyes were twinkling, “Ah,” their owner said.  “I think I see.”

“You do?”

“Tony DiNozzo,” a hand was stretched out towards Gibbs.

“Otherwise known as Dr Tony,” said Gibbs as he took the hand.  “They told me.”

“What else did they tell you?”

“That you’re here as Camp physician.  And that you’re about to qualify as …”

“A dermatologist.  Finished my residency and doing final studying for my boards.  Then I’ll be certified.  I’ve just finished …”

“A rotation in paediatric dermatology,” supplied Gibbs.

“Which is why …”

“Why you’re fanatical about making sure the kids use sunscreen properly and don’t stay out in the sun too long,” said Gibbs sheepishly.

“Yeah.  Perhaps I go over the top but when you’ve seen what I’ve seen … well, you would too.  But I can appreciate that it could look a little odd.”

“Or creepy?” suggested Gibbs.

“Yeah, perhaps I need to work on my technique.”

“So, no hard feelings?” asked Gibbs.

Tony put a hand to his jaw, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I …”

“But I have a feeling you pulled your punch, Mr … hey, I don’t know your name.”

“Gibbs, Jethro Gibbs.  And yeah, I did pull it at the last moment.”

“Ah, you had second thoughts?”

“No,” admitted Gibbs, “But I realised you wouldn’t be able to talk if I broke your jaw.  And I needed you to talk.”

There was a tap at the door and Kelly burst in,

“Dr Tony!  I’m so sorry.  Daddy isn’t usually that crazy.  He’s just … well, I’m not sure what he is,” she glowered at her father.

“It’s OK,” said Tony, “He explained to me … no, actually he didn’t but I figured it out.  And maybe I should be grateful.”

“Grateful?” said Kelly.

“Parents are arriving this weekend to pick up their kids,” said Tony, “I’ll make sure I observe in a less _creepy_ way.”

“Good idea,” said Gibbs.

“Yeah, I don’t think my jaw would stand another round with you, Mr Gibbs.”  He smiled and then regretted it, “Ouch!”

“Daddy,” said Kelly, “You’re buying dinner for us … and for Dr Tony.”

“That’s kind,” said Tony, “But …”

“it’s the least we can do,” said Kelly.  “Isn’t it, Daddy?”

“I guess,” said Gibbs glumly as he wondered how long he’d be in trouble with his daughter.

“No, really,” said Tony, “I think I’ll be better off staying in Camp.  Rest up.”

Kelly was determined that her father should make amends and came up with another plan, “We’ll order in pizza and eat it here.”

Tony and Gibbs shrugged and decided to cut their losses and agree.

NCISNCIS

Kelly had sat with Dr Tony and her father for a little while but soon the allure of her friends having a barbecue took her away.  Tony was cautiously eating a slice of pizza when he suddenly groaned,

“What’s the matter?” asked Gibbs.

“I just realised,” said Tony.

“What?”

“Nurse Josie gave me a pain pill.”

“So?  Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?”

“Yeah.  But my fingers just went ping.”

“Excuse me?”

“I get reactions to painkillers.  Or at least, some of them.  And my fingers pinging means that she gave me something I react to.  I should have noticed but I was a bit off my game,” he stared at Gibbs.

“Do you need me to take you back to your quarters?” asked Gibbs.

Tony looked longingly at the pizza, “Nah.  I won’t collapse or anything – it’s just that … well, my verbal inhibitors might be switched off.”

“What?”

“I’ll talk a lot,” said Tony.

Gibbs shrugged, “Hey, I’m used to chatty people, you’ve met Kelly.”

“I have?”

“Yes, the girl who got the pizza.”

“Oh.  You mean, Miss Gibbs.”

“Miss Gibbs?” asked Gibbs in amusement.

“Sure, it’s important to keep the boundaries,” said Tony, “Well, you know …”

“No.”

Tony gestured towards himself, “When you look like this … and you’re a doctor … well, sometimes people are attracted to me.”

Gibbs looked at him solemnly, “In that case you should be grateful to me.”

“Why?”

“Think that swollen jaw is going to put some people off.”

The disgruntled look Tony gave him made Gibbs realise that it might be too early in their acquaintance for jokes so he decided to change the subject, “Why dermatology?”

“Huh,” Tony looked a little touchy but the lack of verbal inhibitors had its effect, “I thought it would be a safe option.   I mean nobody’s going to call me out in the middle of a night for a pimple.  Didn’t figure I’d end up being assaulted!”

“I explained that,” said Gibbs.

“And my father liked the idea,” said Tony.

“He did?”

“Yeah.  He didn’t really approve of me being a doctor but he thought dermatology would be lucrative.  You know, face lifts, Botox ....  He agreed to pay some of my fees if I went into dermatology.”

“And that’s why you did it?” asked Gibbs feeling a slight sense of disappointment.

“It’s why _he_ thinks I did it,” said Tony.  “But I became fascinated by it.  And yes, I know acne can seem like a joke but it’s not when you’re a miserable teenager.  If we can make life a bit less angsty, well, that’s a good thing in my book.  And psoriasis … eczema can all ruin lives.  Skin cancer …dermatology is a lot more than zits.”

“You care,” said Gibbs.

“Man needs something to believe in,” said Tony.  “You know that too.”

“I do?”

“You tried to see me off even before I was looking at your daughter.  You defend people, Mr Gibbs.  That’s good.  Perhaps it would be good to check next time but I applaud the sentiment.  Your daughter’s a lucky girl.”

“Not sure she’d agree right this minute,” said Gibbs ruefully, “I don’t think she’ll forgive me as quick as you did.”

“She knows she’s lucky,” continued Tony.  “It’s a great thing to have a parent who wants to protect you, look out for you …” his voice trailed off.

Gibbs looked at Tony and glimpsed a sadness behind the words, he guessed Tony was thinking of his father who would finance success but not a dream.

“I don’t make apologies …” began Gibbs.

“You don’t?”

“No.  But I’m sorry I hit you.”

“Why don’t you apologise?” asked Tony.

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.  Just seems odd to me.”

“I figure it’s better to do something practical to fix the situation,” said Gibbs, “Words are empty but deeds aren’t.”

“Oh,” said Tony.  His eyelids were beginning to droop as if the painkillers were catching up on him.

“And I can’t think of anything to make this situation right,” admitted Gibbs.

“Miss Gibbs said you’re a Marine trainer,” said Tony.

“That’s right,” said Gibbs surprised at the change of subject.

“When you train your new recruits, make sure they know about always packing sunscreen.  And that they know to use it.  And maybe a big hat, like mine, to protect the neck and ears.” said Tony.  “That’ll mean something good comes out of this.”  Tony saw Gibbs’ surprise.  “Hey, like I said, I’m a fanatic about this.”

“You got it,” said Gibbs.

“Great.  Now, I’m going to bed.  What do you call it?”

“Hit the rack,” said Gibbs.

Tony nodded.

“Make sure you hit the head first,” said Gibbs with an attempt at humour.

“Think you already took care of that one,” said Tony sourly.  Then he smiled to show it was a joke.  “Good night, Mr Gibbs.”

“Dr Tony,” acknowledged Gibbs.

Tony went a few paces and then turned back, “By the way, I looked at Miss Gibbs’ shoulder because I thought she had a mole which looked odd.”

Gibbs jerked up straight, “Is she OK?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.  It was a cookie crumb – it fell off when she moved her strap.”  He grinned cautiously, “Goes to show that being a dermatologist isn’t always as exciting as it was today!”

“Go to bed, Doc,” said Gibbs.  “And, thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t quite let go of the idea of Tony the dermatologist.


	11. Chapter 11

“So, he said I might still be able to try out …”

The words filtered through a buzzing sound interspersed with a pulsing beat _da DUM, da DUM._

“But I don’t know … perhaps he’s just being …”

Jethro Gibbs tried to catch hold of the words but the buzzing intensified and drowned out the human voice and he returned to the darkness.

“… hope this is OK.  I think it’s what you’re meant to do …”

Gibbs emerged from the blackness and heard the voice again.  He was too tired to work out why he was in this buzzing nothingness but somehow the voice felt like a rope to hold on to, that perhaps it would lead him out.  He lost his hold on the words as a forgotten image of his Mom reading fairy stories to him about breadcrumbs being left in the forest … how long ago could that have been?

“… although it might only work in movies.  I mean, I like movies but even I know that they’re not always true.  Life isn’t always like that …”

Gibbs detected an undertone of sadness in the unknown voice.

“… but in the movies … and in the papers … they have stories about people talking to other people when they’re in comas and it works.  Of course, in the movies the people talking to the other people are usually people they love and perhaps that makes a difference.  ‘Cos I don’t love you … well, I don’t know you, so I can’t love you.  But there aren’t any people here who love you … I guess you do have people who love you … but they’re not here.  So perhaps I’ll do instead …”

Gibbs found this difficult to follow and allowed the buzzing sound to take over once more.

“… you got another balloon today,” Gibbs heard as the buzzing receded.  “Are you into goth?  I mean, I don’t know much about you but you don’t look like you would be.  Your hair isn’t black for one thing.  Anyway, you’ve got a black balloon with a skull and crossbones on.  You know, I’m not known for my tact – but I can get away with it because I’m only 20 – but I wouldn’t figure on a black balloon being a _tactful_ thing to send someone who’s been at death’s door.  But that’s just me.  And perhaps it’s the thought that counts.  And you’ve got some cards as well – I’d read them to you but they’re pinned up high and I can’t reach them.  And it might be rude, you know – to read them.  But I probably would if I could reach them.  People tell me I don’t respect boundaries, but I figure people want me to find things out really.”

“My name’s Tony, by the way.  I always say that when I start out talking to you but I guess you might not be awake when I start.  Well, you’re probably not awake now either.  But I like talking and there’s not much else to do.  I figure you don’t mind me talking and if you do, well, you’ll wake up and kick me out.  Go gentle though, I’m still in this damned wheelchair – they won’t let me try out crutches out yet.  They’re still talking about another operation …”

“You know; I’d never even heard of NCIS before you showed up here.  And I’ve never met a federal agent before.  Or maybe I have and I didn’t know … I guess sometimes you have to be undercover and surreptitious so perhaps I have met one.  Although I don’t think I’ve done anything that needs an undercover fed to be around.  Not sure you’re a good advert for being a federal agent … I mean, getting blown up isn’t something they put in the brochures, is it?  I …”

“What are you doing in here?” came another, female, voice.  “You should be in your bed, young man.”

“I was just talking to Agent Gibbs,” said Tony, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with coma patients?”

“Sometimes,” came the reply, “But sometimes people need to be in their own beds, getting their rest.”

“But I’m not tired,” said Tony, “I don’t do anything to get tired.”

Tony’s voice receded and did not return so Gibbs guessed he had been wheeled away and with it Gibbs’ tether to the outside word.

NCISNCIS

“Hi, it’s Tony again.”

As the buzzing faded enough to make Tony’s voice audible Gibbs noticed that it was slightly hoarse, suggesting that he had been talking for some time.

“Good news is that I don’t have to have another operation.  They started me on physio today.  Now I know why they’re called physio-terrorists.  Still, Cathy is quite cute.  She’s old though, about 25.  Not that I’ve got anything against older women …”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?  I mean, both of us being American but ending up in hospital in England?  I guess you were on some super-secret mission.  I was visiting Uncle Clive … well, _Great_ Uncle Clive … but that’s too much of a mouthful.  Wish I hadn’t been in that car crash – well, obviously – but I don’t want him to think I’m a nuisance.  It’s the first time I’ve been here since I was 17 – he was my Mom’s uncle.  Still is but she’s dead so it feels as if it’s in the past.  He’s a great guy – I think he might have been a spy once although that might be because he looks great in a tux.  I don’t really go in for that dressing up but the ladies seem to like it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m sort of glad that you got blown up so far from home.  I mean, if this had happened in America you’d probably have loads of people showing up at your bedside and I wouldn’t have got a look in.  Don’t get me wrong, Uncle Clive has been great but he lives in Oxfordshire and I had the crash in London.  He comes up as often as he can, but he can’t come every day.  He says he’ll look into getting me moved nearer … I don’t think he means to send me back to Senior.  Senior’s my Dad – got the same name as me.  Actually, I suppose I’ve got the same name as him as he had it first.  Means he calls me Junior and I call him Senior.  If I ever have kids, I’m going to give them their own name.”

“Do you think Uncle Clive is delaying just because he’s trying to get hold of Senior?  He’s hard to find sometimes – Senior I mean, not Uncle Clive.  He won’t be expecting me home so soon.  Truth is he won’t be expecting me at all, especially now I’m at College; he thinks I’m off his hands for good.  I mean, I love my Dad – it’s just that he’s not … well, he never read the Dad manual or my Mom never showed him the small print on the baby contract.”  There was a sigh and Tony stopped talking.

“If you were awake,” came Tony’s voice an indeterminate time later, “I’d ask you something.  But I don’t know what sort of person you are.  Are you a good listener or do you bawl people out?  I figure you must be a patient sort of guy – otherwise you’d have woken up before now.  Anyway, you haven’t woken up and kicked me out so I guess it’s OK to keep on talking.  Unless I’ve bored you so much that you’ve fallen even deeper asleep.”

“Anyway, what do you think about police work?  You must think there’s something in it otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it.  It’s not the sort of job you do unless you want to – there are lots of other ways to earn a living.  I thought I was going to do pro sports – I’m good, you know.  Or I was.  Don’t know now.  Cathy’s a bit tight-lipped about it.  You know, the physio … she told me off for calling her a physio-terrorist – gave me a lecture on the nobility of the profession and the ignobility (is that a word?) of scruffy schoolboys like me.  Except that I’m not a schoolboy, of course.  But I’ve learned to keep on the good side of my physiot _herapist_.  But what I’m getting to is that I might need to explore other options.  And, it’s not something I talk about much, but a few months ago I rescued this kid from a burning building … it wasn’t all good, because I couldn’t get to his sister …” Tony’s voice choked up and he stopped speaking.  A few moments later he resumed, “And it made me think.  Actually, it was almost the first time I’d done something that mattered, that made a difference.  And I began to think that perhaps I should think about a job that makes a difference.  What do you think?  I don’t want to be a firefighter – or at least, I don’t think so.”

“Sorry it’s been a while.  Although you might not know … I never get any reaction from you.  But I overdid the physio a bit and they took my wheelchair away to make sure I rested.  They gave it back today and I snuck in.  You know, people think I’m noisy as well as nosy but I can be quiet when I need to be.  That would come in handy for police work, wouldn’t it?  But if I hadn’t been quiet I wouldn’t have been able to come and talk to you so much – but perhaps you’d be pleased if I hadn’t.

“I had to learn to be quiet.  I love my Dad but he gets cross sometimes.  I’ve learned how to fly under his radar … mostly.  Sometimes I just want to poke the beast but that’s me … I don’t always know how to be sensible.  I have this wild streak; at least, that’s what people tell me.  I figure sometimes I just want people to notice me … but I guess what I do doesn’t always get me the right sort of notice.  There was this time when I cut up one of my Dad’s ski suits.  It was Halloween and I needed a costume but I guess I didn’t work it all out.  He was mad … I didn’t sit down till Christmas.  Well, OK I did but I learned not to touch his stuff.  And I decided to hone my silent skills – and who knows, they may come in useful.”

“They’re getting worried, you know, that you haven’t woken up.  Like I said, I can be quiet and nosy so I hear what they’re saying about you.  They think there’s nothing too wrong but it’s almost that you don’t want to wake up.  Is that because you’re so interested in what I’m saying to you that you don’t want it to stop?  ‘Cos that would be stupid.  I don’t mean to say you’re stupid -although I guess I just did – but if you woke up I could carry on talking to you.  I wouldn’t stop.  But perhaps you’re more of a listener than a talker and you prefer it this way?  Who am I kidding?  I’ve probably bored you to sleep and that’s why you haven’t woken up.  Or you’re not going to wake up until I’ve gone.  Or you haven’t heard any of this.”

“You don’t have to worry you know, I think I’ll be leaving soon.  Uncle Clive says he’ll sort something out.  And they figure that they’ll send you home soon.  They didn’t want to put you on a plane before but now they don’t think it’ll cause any issues and you’ll be better off stateside.  Who knows, someone who loves you might be able to wake you up.  I hope you’ve got someone waiting for you, Agent Gibbs.  It’s no fun being on your own.”

Gibbs still felt that he was hovering between the buzzing darkness and Tony’s voice although it seemed to him that he was conscious of Tony’s voice for longer periods and that perhaps the buzzing was growing fainter.  The tether of Tony’s voice was stronger and, although Gibbs was still too confused and weary to make sense of what was happening to him, he felt a connection to the young man.

“Hey, Agent Gibbs, it’s Tony again.”  Gibbs felt a hand grasp his.  “Hope you don’t mind.  Don’t worry, I haven’t been touching you all this time.  But this is goodbye.  Not that you’ve ever said ‘hello’.  And I know it’s not your fault.  I’m not stupid – although perhaps spending a week talking to you isn’t the most intelligent thing I’ve ever done.  Not sure what the most intelligent thing would be … most people wouldn’t think I’ve ever done anything intelligent.  Anyways, Uncle Clive has come through.  He’s arranged an ambulance and it’s going to take me to his place in Oxfordshire.  He lives in Henley on Thames, they do a lot of rowing there.  He’s hired a physio and he’s going to come and live in his house and work with me.”  Tony’s voice lowered conspiratorially, “Did I mention that Uncle Clive is rich?  Really rich, I mean, Clampett rich.  So he can afford it but it’s … just nice that he doesn’t mind spending money on me.”

Gibbs felt the grip on his hand tighten.

“I’m sort of sorry not to have met you properly, I mean, be able to talk with you rather than at you.  But perhaps that’s a good thing ‘cos you might hate me.  I can be annoying; or so people tell me.  But, just in case, I’ll leave my name and cell number on your locker.  If you want to, when you come round, give me a call.”  There was a final squeeze of Gibbs’ hand and then he heard someone else’s voice,

“Anthony?  What are you doing in here?  Come along, the ambulance is here.”

“Sorry, Uncle Clive.  Just coming.  I was just saying goodbye to a … friend.”

NCISNCIS

“You’re awake!”

Gibbs was out of practice but he managed a scowl at the nurse for stating the obvious.  She was, however, oblivious and made haste to alert the doctors and other medical staff that their most stubborn patient had returned to the land of the living.  When he had a chance to get a word in edgewise Gibbs said,

“There was a kid.  Came in and spoke to me.”

“Was there?” said Nurse Stubbs.

“Do you know who it was.  He said his name was Tony … or Anthony.”

“Oh,” said Nurse Singh, “Tony.  He used to sneak in here all the time.”

“Where is he?” asked Gibbs.

“I’m sorry, Agent Gibbs, we can’t tell you that,” said Nurse Stubbs.

“Why not?”

“Patient confidentiality,” said Nurse Singh.

“He said he’d leave his contact details.  On the locker,” said Gibbs with a sudden flare of desperation at the thought of not meeting Tony.

“I can’t see anything,” said Nurse Stubbs.  “Now, let me take your blood pressure.”

Sometime during their ministrations, Gibbs fell asleep.

Two days later, partly because of his excellent powers of recovery and partly because the hospital wanted their bed back, Gibbs was discharged.  He couldn’t remember much about the last few days but there were snatches of Tony’s conversation that remained with him and he felt grateful to the boy: somehow he thought he might have remained unconscious for longer without Tony’s words drawing him out of himself.  The hospital had remained adamant that they could not release any details about Tony and, he suspected, thought that Gibbs had largely imagined the encounter.

As Gibbs was being pushed (under protest) in the wheelchair towards the door, Nurse Singh ran after him.  Gibbs frowned in case a last minute test was needed,

“Agent Gibbs.  I found this when I was clearing your locker.”

She held out a piece of paper which, when Gibbs unfolded it, proved to be Tony’s contact details.  He smiled and Nurse Singh melted under its effect.

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Tone.”

“Des?”

“Sid has called in sick.”

“Yeah?”

“So you’re up for a new customer.”

_Tone_ looked up with interest, “Me?”

Des looked a little uncertain, “There’s nobody else,” he admitted.

Tone didn’t seem too put out by this less than ringing endorsement and beamed.

“Don’t mess it up,” warned Des.”

“I won’t,” promised Tone.  “Who is it?”

“Older guy.  His wife … or rather, his wife to be, made the appointment.  Reading between the lines, she’s trying to polish up a rough diamond.  Wants to make sure he looks the part for the honeymoon.”

“Cool,” said Tone.

“Play your cards right and this could be a big one,” said Des.  He looked as if he wanted to issue more orders but the bell on the door sounded at that moment and he settled for wagging an admonitory finger at Tone before darting out to see who had entered Blackston Dubay Gentlemen’s Outfitters.

Tone grinned at his employer’s back and hastened to put on his suit jacket and make sure that the knot on his tie was perfectly centred.  It wasn’t long before Des returned and beckoned to him to join him.

“Mr Jethro,” said Des, “This is Mr Anthony.  He will be looking after you, taking you on your sartorial journey,” he paused to smile winningly at his new client but the smile froze and then shattered at the less than impressed look on Mr Jethro’s face.  He coughed, “Mr Anthony is one of our most experienced associates, you could not be in better hands.”

Mr Anthony kept a straight face as he learned, for the first time, that Des thought so highly of him.  “Thank you, Mr Desmond,” he said solemnly, “You can count on me.”

Mr Jethro coughed.  It was a cough that suggested he was a man in a hurry.  Mr Desmond took the hint, “Mr Anthony … why don’t you begin?”  He nodded graciously and sidled out of the shop.  Mr Jethro watched him go and then swivelled to look at Mr Anthony who swallowed a little nervously before finding a welcoming smile.

“Good morning, Mr Jethro.  Won’t you come into the office?  I can take your measurements and get an idea of your requirements.”  He bowed slightly and gestured for the client to go into the adjoining room.  He had intended to walk in an appropriately stately manner but found himself scurrying after the brisk Mr Jethro who didn’t seem to understand the notion of stateliness.

“Can I offer refreshments?” offered Mr Anthony.  “We have iced water, fruit juice, green tea, blue …”

“Coffee,” announced Mr Jethro.

“Of course, Sir.  Coffee.  Cream and sugar?”

“Black.  “And give me a mug, not one of those tiny cups.”

“Of course,” Mr Anthony nodded gravely and decided not to offer the bite size brownies, somehow he knew they would be rejected.  He poured the coffee and handed it to his client.  Mr Jethro took a sip and nodded approvingly.  “Now, Sir, I just need to take some details.”  He looked appraisingly at the customer, “I’d say that you’re 6ft, about 160 pounds?”

“Yes.”

Tony made sure not to look smug and tried something else, “And size 12 shoe?”

Mr Jethro nodded again.

“Excellent.  Now, if you don’t mind, I need to take the rest of your measurements.”  He whipped a tape measure and a note pad out of an inside pocket and advanced.

“Can’t you guess?”

“I could,” said Mr Anthony, “But here at Blackston Dubay we strive for perfection.  You could say it’s a motto.  Our raison d’être.”

“Hmph,” said Mr Jethro.  “And there’s no need to call me _Sir_.”

“Of course,” said Mr Anthony.  “Now, if you could just lift your arms.”

Mr Anthony kept up a stream of inconsequential chatter as he measured every inch of his client.  “I must say that you are in excellent condition.”

“For a man of my age?” asked Mr Jethro drily.

Mr Anthony did not miss a beat, “For a man of _any_ age,” he said firmly.  “Now, the inside leg …” he dropped to one knee and looked up, “Were you in the military at one time?”

“Huh?”

“You have such an erect stature,” said Mr Anthony blandly.

“Marines,” said Mr Jethro.

This time, Mr Anthony allowed the smug, knowing expression to show on his face and noticed that a grin showed fleetingly on Mr Jethro.

“That is excellent,” said Mr Anthony as he took the last note and lightly patted Mr Jethro’s shoulder to indicate he had finished.  Mr Jethro’s eyes narrowed as he considered this gesture.  “Now,” said Mr Anthony, “Perhaps you could explain what items of clothing you are interested in purchasing?”

“Everything.”

“ _Everything?_ ”

“Everything.”

“And by everything, you mean …”

“Everything.  My … fiancée feels that my wardrobe needs bringing up to date.”

Mr Anthony looked at his client’s white undershirt, polo shirt, brown slacks and plaid sports jacket and silently applauded her taste.  “It’s a classic look,” he murmured non-committally.

“And I need some suits.”  A pained look showed on Mr Jethro’s face.

“We specialise in suits,” asserted Tony.  “We source materials from Savile Row in London as well as from Paris and Milan.”  He sensed this might not be a selling point so hurriedly added, “And New York as well.  You can be sure of the finest materials and the best craftsmanship.”

“And evening wear,” said Mr Jethro mournfully.

“Evening wear?”

“We’re going on a world cruise for our honeymoon,” said Mr Jethro through what looked like gritted teeth.”

“Ah,” said Mr Anthony, “Then you will definitely need evening wear.  The social life on board ship is most exciting.”

“Yeah.  So I’ve heard,” said Mr Jethro.

“Perhaps another coffee?” asked Mr Anthony with sudden inspiration, “While we look at some catalogues?”

Mr Jethro nodded agreement and they settled down.  After an hour or so, Mr Jethro seemed to get bored with sleeve lengths, wool weights, tie widths and the rival merits of double and single breasted jackets.  “How’d you get into this?” he asked as he waved a hand at the office with its pictures of male models and neat mounds of fabric swatches.

“Oh.  I was in sports,” said Mr Anthony, “Then I got injured and while I was recovering I did some sports modelling.  Turned out I was better at modelling than I was at playing sport and so I ended up doing that full-time.”

“And?”

“And, well, fashion is a harsh mistress.  When you reach a certain age it doesn’t want to know you anymore.  Although I’m hopeful that when I get to the mature look that my career will take off again.  But, until then, Blackston Dubay is my home.”  He smiled, perhaps realising that his reference to the problems of age were less than tactful.

“You been here long?”

“About 6 months.  I was working in New York but then decided I needed a change,” said Mr Anthony.

“I didn’t know places like this existed,” said Mr Jethro as he gazed at his coffee mug.  “I always shopped at Sears.”

Mr Anthony hid his shock well.  “I’m sure _Sears_ provides very … robust items,” he offered.

“Yes,” said Mr Jethro with what seemed a tinge of regret at what he was letting go.  “But … Sarah … has different views.”

“I see,” said Mr Anthony.  “Now, may I suggest this shade of blue shirt?  I think it would go with your eyes.  Make them pop.”

“Pop?” asked Mr Jethro.

“Pop,” confirmed Mr Anthony.

“Do I want my eyes to pop?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr Anthony.  “And I can assure you that … Sarah … would want them to as well.”

“She would?”

“If she has any sense,” beamed Mr Anthony.

“Has … Mr Desmond been here a long time?” asked Mr Jethro.

“I don’t know.  He was already here when I took the position.  I think he’s been here about two years.”

“Huh.  Seems a friendly place,” said Mr Jethro.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” said Mr Anthony neutrally.  “How did you find out about Blackston Dubay?  If I might ask?”

“Um, a friend of mine mentioned it – Kenton Orsay.  And I told my … Sarah about it.  She said it was just what we needed.”

“Kenton Orsay,” said Mr Anthony thoughtfully, “That name rings a bell.  Was he a client?”

“I think so,” said Mr Jethro.  “His wife died a few weeks ago, perhaps you read the obituary?”

“Possibly,” said Mr Anthony.  “Now, are you settled on the shawl collar tuxedo in silk?  Or do you want the peaked lapel version in fine wool?”

“Which would you recommend?”

Mr Anthony considered this, “Well, my preference would be for the peaked lapel.  I think it’s more classic and, if I may say so, Mr Jethro, you can carry off the classic look.”

Mr Jethro didn’t look especially gratified by this comment and simply grunted.

“In fact,” gushed Mr Anthony, “I would go so far as to say that you are the epitome of classic.”

“OK,” said Mr Jethro.  “Go ahead with that.  And the other stuff we’ve discussed.”

Mr Anthony suppressed a shudder at the word _stuff._ “It will be a pleasure,” he said, “Where will I send the account?”

“The account?” said Mr Jethro.  “But we haven’t finished.”

“We haven’t?”

“No.  We’ve only done formal wear.  I need casual wear, beach wear and sportswear.  And is there something called _smart casual_?”

“Indeed there is,” said Mr Anthony in a stunned voice.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” announced Mr Jethro.

“Of course.”

Mr Jethro made for the door but Mr Anthony came out of his daze quickly enough to make sure that he sprinted ahead of him and opened it for him.  “And …” began Mr Jethro.

“Yes?” asked Mr Anthony.

“Make sure the coffee’s stronger next time.”

“Of course.”

NCISNCIS

Des was delighted at Tone’s progress and willingly allowed him to continue dealing with Mr Jethro even though Sid returned to work the next day.  On the dot of 0900, Mr Jethro walked into the shop.  Mr Anthony ushered him into the office where a carafe of coffee was already brewing.

“What would you like to look at first?” he asked.

“Sportswear,” said Mr Jethro.

“A good choice,” said Mr Anthony.  “What sports are we looking at?”

“Tennis.  And golf,” said Mr Jethro.

“Really?” said Mr Anthony.

“What’s wrong with golf and tennis?”

“Oh, nothing.  It’s just that I would have said your musculature indicates something more like … walking, hunting … perhaps sailing.”

Mr Jethro looked at the assistant, “A few months ago you’d have been right.  But Sarah wants me to take up other sports.”

“Like tennis and golf?”

“Yes.”

Mr Anthony cleared his throat and asked delicately, “Is … well … I gather that your future wife is wealthy?”

“Very,” said Mr Jethro.

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy,” said Mr Anthony in a tone which didn’t sound very confident.

“And if I’m not, there’s always divorce,” said Mr Jethro.

“Yes,” said Mr Anthony, “Or …”

“Or something else,” said Mr Jethro.  “I’ve been married three times, you know.”

“I see,” said Mr Anthony.  “And when is the wedding?”  Mr Jethro looked askance at him.  “I need to know when we need to get the suits made for.  And the alterations done,” he said hastily.

“Three weeks,” said Mr Jethro.

“I’m sure it will be wonderful.  And then you’ll be off on a long vacation.”

“Yes,” said Mr Jethro gloomily.

It turned out that Mr Jethro was less decisive about casual wear than formal wear and another session was booked for the next day.  Des was in ecstasies and Sid was sulky that he had missed out on such a golden opportunity.

Mr Anthony and Mr Jethro passed a fruitful morning discussing different types of polo shirts.  Mr Jethro was surprised that Mr Anthony would ‘allow’ him to continue wearing them as he’d thought they were old fashioned.

“Never old fashioned,” gasped Mr Anthony, “They’re classic.  And as I said before, you can totally carry it off.  Of course, they should be used with moderation.  It never does, I feel, to be too associated with a particular garment but I think they should continue to be part of your wardrobe.  But I think some chambray work shirts would be a useful addition.”

“Work shirts?” said Mr Jethro sceptically.

“Oh,” Mr Anthony hastened to reassure, “These are Ralph Lauren work shirts.  You wouldn’t actually _work_ in them.”

It was difficult to tell if Mr Jethro was reassured by these words and he soon indicated that his buying spree might be nearing its end.

“I hope you’ve got everything you wanted,” said Mr Anthony coyly.

“I guess I can always come back if I think of anything else,” said Mr Jethro.

“Of course.  And do we have the address to which to send the account?”

“Mr Desmond has it.”

“Wonderful.”

“And I think Kenton was right,” said Mr Jethro, “I think Blackston Dubay does offer the services I may need.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” said Mr Anthony.  “And may I say that it has been a pleasure to dress you.”  He giggled.

Mr Jethro smiled a little grimly.  “Do you know anywhere nearby where I can get something to eat?” he asked.  He saw Mr Anthony open his mouth to make a suggestion and hastily said, “Just a Mom and Pop diner.  Sarah doesn’t approve of places like that but I still like them.”  He sighed.

“Of course,” said the willing Mr Anthony.  “In fact, I’m about to go on my lunch break.  I can show you some really good places.”

Mr Jethro nodded his approval and the two left the shop together.  They had walked a whole block from the shop when two black sedans converged on them from opposite directions and armed officers jumped out,

“Leroy Jethro, you’re under arrest!” shouted one.

“Anthony DiNozzo, you’re under arrest!” shouted another.

“What?” said Tony and Gibbs in unison.

NCISNCIS

“It’s actually quite funny,” said Tobias Fornell to Director Tom Morrow.

“Is it?” asked Tom grimly.

“We had FBI agent Tony DiNozzo undercover in Blackston Dubay because we suspected that it had a side line in assassinating wealthy wives.”

“And we sent Jethro Gibbs undercover because we suspected that the shop was organizing burglaries at their customers’ homes,” said Morrow.

“How did you get Jethro to do it?” asked Tobias.  “It must have been torture for him to have to talk fashion all that time.”

“I have my methods,” said Tom darkly.

“If I hadn’t been out of action after root canal I’d have spotted Jethro as the new customer,” said Fornell ruefully, “But I wasn’t involved with the arrest.”

“No matter,” said Morrow, “No point crying over spilt milk.  And at least we know the truth now.”

“Sure,” said Fornell.  “I feel real sorry for Des.  He found out that Sid has been murdering customers to order as well as making suits to order _and_ he’s been selling customer addresses to burglars.”

“Yes,” said Morrow.  “Although I think he’s even more upset to have lost _Mr Anthony._   Turns out he’s quite a salesman.”

NCISNCIS

“It was nice to meet you, Special Agent Gibbs,” said Tony as they emerged from the holding cells they’d been placed in.

“And you, Special Agent DiNozzo,” said Gibbs.  “Although, don’t take this the wrong way, I never want to talk to you about shawl collars or pleated pants against flat front again.”

Tony groaned, “I know.  You know, I think I’m ruined.”

“What?  Why?”

“Six months undercover at Blackston Dubay.  I never cared about fashion before but I had to immerse myself in it and I may be hooked.  I may need to go and buy a suit.”

“Perils of the job,” said Gibbs with a sympathetic slap on the shoulder.

“I guess,” said Tony gloomily.  “Oh well, I guess I may see you around.  Agent Fornell says there’s a permanent opening on his team so I’ll probably be staying in DC.”

Gibbs nodded.  “Sounds good, so long as you don’t let the FBI arrest me next time.”

“Works two ways,” said Tony, “Don’t let NCIS arrest me either.”

“Agreed,” said Gibbs.

Tony turned to go but stopped when Gibbs coughed, an embarrassed cough.  “Hey, if you’ve got time …”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps you could talk me through those chambray work shirts again?”


	13. Chapter 13

The mailman whistled a tune to himself as he walked up to the mailbox and prepared to deposit the mail.  He frowned when he saw that the ‘mail present’ flag was raised and when he lifted the door he saw that there was indeed still mail in the box.  He shrugged, put that day’s mail in and walked on.  It wasn’t long before he was whistling once more.

The next day the mailman arrived once more and frowned once more as he saw that the mail had still not been collected.  He paused to peer up the long track although he knew he wouldn’t be able to see the house from where he stood.  He was new to the job and wasn’t sure what the correct procedure was but, in the end, decided that there was still room in the box so he stuffed that day’s delivery in and walked on.

It was raining the next day when the delivery man arrived and the whistle was more subdued.  He realised that he’d been going a little more slowly than usual because he was anxious about what he was going to find.  He sighed when he saw that the box was still full but he had already decided what to do.  He took the letters and a small package out of the box and set off up the track.  He had walked for about half a mile when he realised that mail deliverers were probably usually grateful for the mailbox at the bottom of the track; he sighed once more and shifted the bag on his back a little.  After another half mile or so he turned a bend in the track and came to a clearing in which a log cabin stood.

“Mail!” he shouted.  There was no reply but he heard the sound of activity from around the back of the cabin.  He called out, “Mail!” again and walked forward, trying to make as much noise as possible.  He was a city person and had an uneasy feeling that it would be a bad idea accidentally to creep up on a bear or rattler or irate backwoodsman.  He frowned as he wondered if there were bears or rattlers in New Hampshire.  He had a sneaky suspicion that that the guys at the distribution office were taking advantage of his greenness to tell him horror stories … and another sneaky suspicion that he was a tad gullible when it came to such stories.

It was therefore with a little nervousness that he continued his noisy progress to the back of the cabin: he wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved when he encountered, not a bear or rattle snake, but a tall man wielding an axe.

“Mail!” he quavered.

The man lowered his axe slightly, stared at him for a few seconds and then said, “Heard you the first time.  And the second.”

The mailman bit back a response along the lines of, “Then why the hell didn’t you answer?” as he remembered that the United States Postal Service would want him to be courteous to customers.  “Hi,” he said instead, “I’m your mailman … I mean, mail carrier.  We haven’t met.”  He paused, waiting for a friendly response but all he got was a continued cool, blue stare.  “I just started,” he continued, “I’m Tony.  I guess you’re Mr Gibbs.  LJ Gibbs?  Anyways, I thought I’d come check you’re OK.”

“Why?”

“Why?  Well, you haven’t collected your mail.  For at least three days.”

“It’s my mail,” said LJ Gibbs.

“Yes,” said Tony.

“So?”

“So I was concerned.  You know, that perhaps you were sick.  Or you’d broken your leg.  Or been bitten by a rattlesnake …”

“What?”

“Bitten by a rattlesnake.”

For the first time there was something like an amused smile in the blue eyes.  “No rattlesnakes in this part of New Hampshire.”

“Huh,” said Tony.  He wondered briefly how he could get back at Doug who had so solemnly warned him against snakes; he decided instead to give thanks for not having mentioned an attack by a bear.  “Anyway, I wanted to check.”

“I’m fine,” said Gibbs.

“Good,” said Tony.  He stood there holding out the mail but LJ turned away.  “Don’t you want this?” he asked.

Gibbs shrugged.  “Put it down there.  I’ll get to it later.”  He pointed to a tree stump.

“Right,” said Tony.  “I’ll be going then.”

For reply, Gibbs simply turned back to his chopping.  Tony got the impression that his company was not required and he retreated back down the track.

XXXXX

For someone who didn’t want his mail, LJ Gibbs seemed to get a lot of it.  At least one letter arrived each day and, each day, it remained uncollected.  Tony began to feel this was an affront to the efforts of the USPS; his co-workers worked hard to get the mail out as promptly as possible yet LJ Gibbs spurned their efforts.  On the fourth day, when he could no longer squeeze anything else into the mailbox, he set off up the track.

Once again, he followed the sound of the wood chopping and called out, “Mail!”

“You can leave it in the box,” said Gibbs, “That’s what it’s there for.  So you don’t have to come up here.”  _And bother me_ were the obvious unsaid words.

“There’s no room in the box,” said Tony.  “I didn’t want to leave it outside.  It might rain.”

Gibbs gazed into the sky, “It’s not going to rain.”

“Well,” said Tony, who was hot from trekking up the path, “Forgive me for not being Candy Cornell!”  He suspected that the exasperation in his voice was not in keeping with the standards of customer care expected from mail carriers but, for the moment, he didn’t care.

“Who?”

“Candy Cornell.  She presents the weather on Channel 9.  You know, blonde, brown eyes, petite … and an excellent meteorologist.”

“I haven’t got a TV,” said LJ.

“Eh?  Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who didn’t have a TV.”

“Why talk about Candy Cornish?”

“Candy Cornell,” corrected Tony, “She’s worth talking about,” he said wistfully.

“And?”

“And …” Tony shook his head as he tried to remember why he’d brought her up, “And I’m not her …”

“No kidding.”

“So I can’t tell if it’s going to rain or not.  So, I brought your mail to you.”

“OK,” said LJ.  “I’ll get a bigger box.”

Tony stared at the customer who had many ways of dismissing overeager mail carriers.

“Is it going to be a hard winter?” he asked.

“What?”

“You’re chopping a lot of wood,” Tony pointed out.

“It’s good exercise,” said LJ.

“Well,” said Tony doubtfully, “I guess it’s good cardio but I’m not sure that it uses all your muscle groups.  Some running and weight bearing would be good.”

Another cool blue stare had the mail carrier retreating down the track.

XXXXX

Tony decided to vary his delivery route so that the Gibbs cabin was his last call; this meant that he could take the time to go up the track without inconveniencing his other customers.  It also meant that he arrived for milk and cookies with Mrs Dawson at a better time and had a longer interval before he got to Mr Francesco for coffee and ice cream.  In some ways, he mused, his round was a real friendly one.  In some ways, not all.

Tony whistled determinedly as he walked up the track.  He had done some internet research and discovered that black bears did roam parts of New Hampshire although they were likely to be more afraid of Tony than he was of them.  Tony might not be old but he learned to distrust theories, especially when his wellbeing was at stake so he was making sure he made a noise.

To his surprise, when he reached the end of the track, he saw – not a black bear – but Mr Gibbs sitting on the steps to his cabin.

“Mail,” said Tony.

LJ nodded.

“You OK?” asked Tony.

Gibbs stared at him bleakly.

“You’re usually chopping wood,” said Tony.  “You pulled a muscle or something?”

Gibbs continued to stare bleakly.

“Or a stress fracture?” speculated Tony, “Rotator cuff tendonitis?  Golfer’s elbow?  That’s not something that only golfers get – anyone who does repetitive movements can get it.  And you’ve been doing a lot of repetitive movements.”

“I haven’t got _golfer’s elbow_ ,” said Gibbs.

“If you’re sure,” said Tony.

“I’m …”

Tony thought that he was about to say _fine_ but an innate honesty prevented him.

“What are you anyway?” asked LJ, “A doctor?”

“No.”

“You know a lot of injuries,” said Gibbs.

“I’m a phys-ed major,” said Tony.  “We learn about things like that.”

“You’re late,” said Gibbs.

Tony brightened at the thought that Gibbs watched out for him.  He fleetingly thought that Gibbs might even have sat down to wait for him but before he could say anything Gibbs continued,

“You usually come and annoy me earlier than this.”

Tony’s glare wasn’t as effective as Gibbs’ but he gave it a good go before remembering the importance of customer service, “Hey,” he said, “You need me to take any letters to mail?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you get a lot of letters.  I figure you must reply sometimes.  I could mail them for you.  If you want.”

“No, I don’t want.”

“But …”

“I don’t reply to them.  Hell, I don’t even open them.”

“Oh.  That seems a shame,” said Tony.

“Huh?”

“Well, people go to the trouble of writing … be nice to write back to them.”

“ _Nice_?”

“Sure.  Must be nice to have people write to you.”

There was something in the tone of voice that made Gibbs look up at him sharply but he quickly looked back down at the ground and Tony, finding he had nothing left to say, walked away.

XXXXX

“I brought you something,” said Tony a couple of days later.

Gibbs looked up in surprise, he didn’t think the mailbox would be full yet so he hadn’t expected Tony.

“Jancie Dawson found out I was coming this way,” said Tony.

“Why?” asked Gibbs.

“What do you mean _why_?”

“The mail route usually has her place after mine,” said Gibbs.  “Why’d she think you were coming to me?”

“Change of route,” said Tony wondering how someone who seemed so bored by mail knew what the rounds were.  “Anyway, she knew I was coming here so she gave me a bag of cookies for you.”

“She did?”

“Sure,” said Tony.  “Said something about you delivering logs to her place.  These are a thank you.”

“She didn’t need to do that,” said Gibbs.

Tony shrugged, “I know.”  Inside he was high-fiving himself at the accuracy of his guess that Gibbs would have delivered logs to people around him.  Part of him regretted giving away the cookies Mrs Dawson had given him but he thought it would be worth it.

Gibbs’ face had softened slightly at the sight of the cookies and he became aware of Tony’s yearning look,

“Here, have a cookie,” he offered.

Tony hastened forward to take one.

“No need to sit down,” said Gibbs, “You’re not staying.”

Tony walked away, telling himself it was only prudent to make sure he didn’t leave a cookie crumb trail – he still didn’t want to rely on the alleged timidity of black bears.

XXXXX

Tony got into the habit of taking the mail straight to Gibbs each day.

“You don’t have to do this,” said Gibbs.

“I know.  But you’re out here on your own.  I figure someone has to look out for you.”

“Look out for me?” said Gibbs.  There was an amused sound in his voice.

“Sure.  You could get sick.  Or hurt …”

“You still worried I’ll get that golf thing?” asked Gibbs.

“Or chop your foot off,” said Tony.

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” said Gibbs.

“Our orientation and initiation training warned us to be on the watch for people in trouble,” said Tony.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” said Gibbs.

“You have to admit,” said Tony, “That it’s odd …”

“Odd?” asked Gibbs in a less than encouraging tone.

“Living out here on your own.  Back to nature.  No TV.  You could be a radical environmentalist.”

“A what?”

“You know, someone who disapproves of technology and wants to destroy it.”

“You think I may be plotting something?”

“Possibly.”

“And you think this is a good way to find out?” asked Gibbs.

“Well …”

“Coming down here on your own to confront a mad axe-man?”

“When you put it like that …”

“Pretty stupid, huh?”

Tony didn’t seem fazed, “I don’t really think you’re plotting anything.  I’m not really stupid enough to come and challenge an ecowarrior.  Especially one who wields an axe like you do.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Gibbs.

“Then why are you here?” asked Tony.

“Why do you care?” asked Gibbs.

“It seems kinda lonely out here,” said Tony.

“My choice,” said Gibbs.

“And you’ve got people who care.  Those letters are mostly handwritten; they’re not bills or circulars.”

“Like I said, my choice.”

“If I had that number of people who cared, I’d be happy,” said Tony.

“I haven’t got the people I want,” said Gibbs.

“Ah,” said Tony.

Gibbs looked at him sharply, “You knew?”

Tony continued not to look fazed, “Mrs Dawson mentioned it.  And Mr Franceso.  Said you’d lost your wife and daughter two years ago.”

Gibbs looked away from Tony and gazed down the track instead.

“They said that you come up here this time of year and lock yourself away.”

“So?”

“So, the USPS is here to build community,” said Tony, “To bind the nation together,” I’m just trying to do that.”

“Try that again,” said Gibbs.

“I don’t like to see people unhappy,” said Tony.  “Alone when they don’t need to be.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” said Gibbs.

“No,” agreed Tony.  “I’m not married and I haven’t had a child.  But I’ve lost people, and I know what it’s like to be sad.”

“Go away, kid,” said Gibbs.

“And I know what it’s like to have someone kill themselves,” said Tony as he ignored the order.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” said Gibbs.

“And I don’t want to have it on my conscience,” said Tony, “To think I could have done something and didn’t.”

“You won’t,” said Gibbs.

“You sure?” asked Tony.

“If I was going to do it, I’d have done it when it first happened,” said Gibbs.  “And I came close to it … hell, why am I telling you this?”

Tony shrugged, “Because I’m annoying?”

“isn’t that the truth?”

“It’s a gift,” said Tony modestly.

Gibbs laughed.  “I’m not going to kill myself.  I came here to think about something else I could do … which I’m not going to tell you about …”

“The USPS is sworn to confidentiality,” said Tony hopefully.

“Nice try,” said Gibbs.  “And I’m not going to do it.  ‘Cos I have a feeling it would hang over my life for ever … and it wouldn’t bring them back.”

“You sure?” asked Tony.

“No.  But I will be,” said Gibbs.  “Time to look ahead, to make some changes.”

“Good,” said Tony cautiously.

“You’re a good kid,” said Gibbs.

“My name’s Tony.”

“You’re a good kid, _Tony_ ,” said Gibbs obligingly.  “Now, get out of here!”

Tony jumped up obediently and started off down the track.  He had gone a few paces when he turned back, “Don’t forget.  I can mail some letters for you!”

“Get out of here,” said Gibbs but he was smiling as he said it.

Gibbs watched Tony stride down the track and found that the sight cheered him up.  He had come to the cabin in the morose mood he was always in at this time of year when the loss of his wife and daughter seemed to weigh heavily.  He was no longer thinking of killing himself but he had found himself tempted by what NCIS agent Mike Franks had dangled before him.  The prospect of killing the man who had murdered his family preyed on his mind, he could imagine the satisfaction of lying in wait and then pulling the trigger.

The thought of what Shannon would have thought of that was one of the things preventing him but, oddly, it was Tony’s presence that had also played a part.  His cheerfulness, his concern, his zest for life had somehow reminded him of the good side of life.  Tony’s _Tonyness_ had lapped at the rock of Gibbs’ sadness and managed to erode it a little, lessened its weight and made him readier to face the world in a real sense once more.  The unopened letters from concerned friends had helped him know he was not forgotten and Tony’s visits had made him know that he was valued and not to be discarded.

Gibbs grinned as he thought it might be time to tell Tony a little more about life in the New Hampshire woods so that he could stop being so fearful of the wildlife.

XXXXX

“Mail,” said Tony the next day as he walked down the track.

“Thanks,” said Gibbs.   He pointed to a heap of letters, “Gonna take you up on your offer.  Will you mail these for me?”

Tony beamed, “Be glad to.  Got some cookies, you want some?”

“Sure.  Jancie again?”

“No.  Howard … he’s just moved in.  Turns out he’s a mean baker. Here - brownies as well as choc chip.”

“Thanks,” said Gibbs.  He bit into a brownie appreciatively.  “Hmm.  They’re good.”

“Great,” said Tony.  “I’d better be off.”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“I’ll get out of your way,” said Tony.

“OK.  See you tomorrow?  Might have some letters for you to mail.”

“No, not tomorrow,” said Tony.

“Day off?” asked Gibbs.

“No.  Today’s my last day.”

“Huh?”

“Sure, this is a summer job.  Back to school next week.”

“Oh.  Sure.”

“Nice knowing you, Mr Gibbs.”

“You too, Tony.”

Gibbs didn’t talk much but he wasn’t usually lost for words but he found himself trying to think what to say.  He watched as Tony walked away,

“Hey, Tony!”

“Yes?”

“Thank you!”

Tony put a thumb up.  “No problem.  You know we have an unofficial motto:

_Messenger of Sympathy and Love_

_Servant of Parted Friends_

_Consoler of the Lonely_

_Bond of the Scattered Family_

_Enlarger of the Common Life_

_Carrier of News and Knowledge_

_Instrument of Trade and Industry_

_Promoter of Mutual Acquaintance_

_Of Peace and of Goodwill Among Men and Nations._

 

Good, isn’t it?”

And he was gone.

XXXXX

Jancie arrived the next day for a visit.

“Hey, Jethro.”

“Jancie.”

“How you doing?”

“Fine.  You?”

“Truth to tell, I’m a bit down.”

“Huh?”

“Now that young Tony has gone.  He was a real … tonic.”

“Huh.”

“Did you speak with him much?”

“Not much.  He did most of the talking,” admitted Gibbs.

“Sounds about right,” laughed Jancie.  “Always cheerful but …”

“But?”

“He seemed kinda sad sometimes.  So I fed him.”

“He said he was off to college,” said Gibbs.

“Should have gone last week,” said Jancie, “But he said he had something to finish up here first.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs as he glimpsed at what that might have been.  “What’s he studying?”

“You _really_ didn’t speak to him, did you?  Although he was good at deflecting,” said Jancie reflectively.  “Going through a bad patch, were you?”

“What’s he doing?” asked Gibbs, choosing not to answer.

“Well, I think he was born to be a mailman … sorry, mail carrier,” said Jancie.  “He was thinking of going into law …”

“Law?” said Gibbs with distaste.

“But he said being a mailman made him think he’d like a job helping people more.  So he’s got into med school.  I think he’ll be a good doctor – if he can’t be a mailman.”

“Yes,” said Gibbs, “I reckon he’s got a healing touch.”

Jancie left shortly afterwards, leaving Gibbs to wonder why the woods seemed so much quieter that day.  He thought he might try to write to Tony through the USPS.  Somehow he thought Tony would appreciate a letter … and perhaps _he_ needed to feel valued too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the words quoted by Tony were inscribed on the Washington DC Post Office which is now the home of the Smithsonian Institution's National Postal Museum.
> 
> I think Tony might be a good mail carrier!


	14. Chapter 14

“Well, Wilma, seems to me that you’re in excellent shape.  Cholesterol’s a tad high so lay off the heavy cream on your oatmeal.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Wilma Dodd.  She smiled sweetly but didn’t stand to go.

“Something on your mind?” asked the doctor.  “How’s Jasper doing?”

Wilma sighed, “He’s still the same.  Actually, that’s not true, he’s a been a little more upbeat these last few days.”

The doctor nodded.  Jasper Dodd was in a wheelchair following a stroke a few years before and was sometimes prone to periods of depression.  “Let me know if you need anything but I’ll drop by soon anyway.”

“He’d like that.  He’s always glad to see you.”  Wilma still didn’t get up to go.

“Wilma,” said the doctor firmly, “In all the years you’ve been my patient I’ve never known you come in so promptly for your annual check-up.  Susie usually has to chase you for weeks.  What’s up?”

Wilma sighed and decided to come to the point.  “I want to ask you a favour.”

“Go on.”

“You can say no.”

“I know,” said the doctor sternly.

“I’ve got my great grandson staying with me,” began Wilma.

“I didn’t know you had one,” said the doctor.  “Congratulations.”

“Actually, he’s my step great-grandson,” said Wilma.  “He’s Catherine’s step son.”

“Oh.  She married some New York millionaire, didn’t she?”

Wilma frowned, “That’s what _he_ said.  I’m not so sure about the millionaire part but he certainly tries to play the role.”

“Trouble?”

“Possibly.  Caty is his third wife so I don’t think he’s a keeper.”

“Why’s the kid staying with you?”

“He’s a difficult boy.  And he’s being punished,” said Wilma.

“What for?”

“Getting expelled from school a few weeks ago.  But I think that’s an excuse.”

“How so?”

“Why punish a boy for something that happened that long ago?  Besides, Caty says he’s settled down well at the new school.  His father decided on a military academy in Rhode Island this time and it looks as if it might be going to work.  But Anthony, that Caty’s husband’s name, is not what you’d call a hands-on father and they fight a lot.  So, reading between the lines, I think not letting the boy come home for the vacation is a way of avoiding him.”

“He wants to avoid his own son?”

“it’s not what he _says_ ,” said Wilma fairly, “But it’s what he _does_.”

“So you’ve got him instead?”  If the doctor thought that landing a troublesome boy on a 75-year-old woman with an invalid husband was odd, he decided to keep those thoughts to himself.

“I don’t mind,” said Wilma.  “And I didn’t mean to agree but Anthony has a certain charm … he usually gets what he wants.”

“Where do I come in?” asked the doctor.

“The boy needs structure.  And purpose.  At the moment he’s just intent on going to college to do phys-ed …”

“Is he good at sport?”

“He says so.  And, to be fair, he’s pretty good at shooting hoops in the back yard.”

“What’s the problem then?  And he might change his mind?  What does his dad want him to do?”

“Make money is my guess,” said Wilma.

“So long as he does it honestly …”

“But I think he could do better.”

“OK, so what’s the favour you wanted to ask me?”

“Jethro, I’d like you to let him shadow you for a week or so.”

“What!”

“Show him what doing a worthwhile job is like.”

“You want to turn him into a doctor?”

“Not necessarily,” said Wilma a little wistfully, “But I’m afraid for him.”

“Afraid?”

“He’s a good child, underneath it all.”

“Underneath what?” asked Jethro suspiciously.

“The attitude.  The bravado.  The overconfidence …”

“You’re not selling this to me, Wilma,” said Jethro gloomily.

“His mom died when he was 8, Jethro.  His father has been married twice since then and has had women in between the marriages.  The boy got sent away to school when he was 11 and has been expelled from several.  I worry he’s running out of chances, of people to care.”

“And why do you care?” asked Jethro.  “From what you say, he may not be your step great-grandson for long if his father runs true to form.”

“Because I think he’s worth saving.”

“Why?”

Wilma fiddled with her handkerchief for a second or two, “The way he is with Jasper.”

“What you mean?”

“Tony’s a typical teenager – multiplied a hundred times!  But he’s patient with Jasper.  He sits with him and they watch movies together and he gives Jasper a running commentary.  That’s why I said Jasper’s been brighter these last days.  There’s something good in the boy … hidden deep down but it’s there.  Will you do it, Jethro?”

Dr Gibbs sighed.  “He can come for a week.  He’ll do what he’s told.  And he’s to be polite to the patients and not talk about them.”

“Yes, Jethro.”

“And if it doesn’t work out, he’ll be out of here so fast his feet won’t touch the ground.”

“I understand,” said Wilma.

“0800 tomorrow.  Two seconds later and he needn’t bother staying,” warned Jethro.

“I’ll tell him,” said Wilma.  She finally got up to go, “Thank you, Jethro.  Who knows, you might enjoy it!”

Dr Gibbs shook his head at her and she walked out.

XXXXX

“Cool!” said Tony when he arrived at the Gibbs Family Medical Centre the next day.

“Cool?” asked Jethro.

“Sure, you know … cool.  Do I get to wear a white coat?”

“No,” said Jethro.

“OK,” shrugged Tony.  He seemed to realise that his initial show of enthusiasm might not have been _cool_ and so he adopted a bored posture.

“You do what I tell you,” said Jethro.  “You don’t talk back to me, Susie or the patients.  What you hear here, stays here.  Understand?”

“Hear hear,” said Tony.

Jethro’s eyes narrowed at this but he decided the comment had just managed to skate the right side of respectfulness.  “Any issues and you’re out.  Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” drawled Tony.

“Don’t call me Sir,” ordered Jethro.

“What do I call you then?  Jethro?”

“Dr Gibbs will do,” said Jethro.  “Listen, I’m doing this as a favour to Wilma.  She told me that you can be difficult.  That you act out. So I’ll give you one warning.  Don’t do it with me.”

“You don’t have to worry,” said Tony, “I can behave and this is for a week, not life.  I’m not looking for a father figure or anything.”

“Good,” said Jethro, “I’m not looking for a son figure.  Now that we understand each other, go and tidy the magazines in the waiting room.”  Tony hesitated.  “Now!”  Tony responded instinctively to the command barked in Jethro’s best Marine voice.  The doctor smiled reminiscently.

XXXXX

The patients that day got an extra service.  Tony was sent out to call them in for their appointment and then escort them in to see the doctor.

“You got a new apprentice, Jethro?” asked Lilly Mathison when she was ushered in.

“No.  He’s my gopher,” said Jethro briefly.  “You OK with Tony staying in, Lilly?  He’s Wilma’s great-grandson.”  This seemed to be explanation enough and Lilly replied,

“You know me, never mind an audience.  So long as he doesn’t mind looking at my leg ulcer.”

“He won’t,” said Jethro with a warning glare at his gopher.

Tony swallowed when he saw the ulcer revealed and, for a few moments, looked at the top shelf of Jethro’s medical books as if he found them suddenly fascinating but his colour soon returned and he started listening to the conversation again.  Jethro noticed, however, that he did not look directly at the leg.

Tony wasn’t sure how Dr Gibbs did it.  He didn’t seem to hurry Lilly along, allowed her time to reminisce about the time her husband had nearly cut his thumb off and _the blood had gushed like a geyser,_ examined the ulcer and recommended a new treatment and still managed to get her out in ten minutes.  Tony accompanied her out of the room and tried to listen with only half an ear to her memories of giving birth in a pickup truck.  He was surprised when she didn’t hurry off now that her appointment was done but instead settled down for a chat and ignored the door he was holding open for her.   He lifted an eyebrow in query to Susie the receptionist.  She beckoned to him and then whispered,

“Highlight of their day coming to see Dr Jethro.  And you’re an added attraction.  We won’t empty out until the half price coffee and cake kicks in at Marylou’s café at 1030!  Mr Sinclair is next.”

Tony led Mr Sinclair in – very slowly as he was leaning heavily on a walking stick.

“Wayne!” said Jethro, “You still using that stick?”

“I need it, Dr Jethro,” pleaded Wayne.

“I told you, try walking without it came the stern reply.  You want to end up needing it permanently?”

“It hurts,” whined Wayne.

“Course it does.  And it will for a while.  You need to suck it up,” ordered the doctor.

Tony’s mouth fell open in shock.

“But …” said Wayne.

“It won’t hurt for ever,” said Jethro.  “Do the exercises like I told you.  Walk a little every day without the stick.  You still got that plan we got you?”

Wayne mutely shook his head.

“Ask Susie to print you off another one,” said Jethro brusquely, “And follow it this time.  Understood?”

“Yes, Dr Jethro,” said Wayne meekly and he got up to go.  Tony hesitated, wondering if he was supposed to help him rise from his chair but a glance at the doctor suggested that was not a good idea.

Dr Gibbs’ patients were so absorbed in their chatting that Susie decided not to interrupt them for a few minutes and, in any case, Dr Gibbs was ahead of schedule having got rid of Wayne so quickly.  Tony took the opportunity to slip back into Jethro’s room,

“Er …” he began.

“What?” asked Jethro.

“Um, Mr Sinclair …”

“What about him?”

“I was just wondering …”

“What?  Hurry up, there might be patients dying out there.”

“It’s just that, well, I’ve never heard a doctor tell a patient to _suck it up_ ,” confessed Tony.

Jethro shrugged, “It’s not standard but, for people like Wayne, it can be effective.”

Six patients later, and with Tony’s mind reeling at what he had heard and seen, morning surgery was over and the doctor was on his way to see his housebound patients.

“You OK?” asked Jethro as he saw Tony gripping his seatbelt with white knuckles.

“Sure,” gasped Tony, “I never thought I’d live long anyway, so what does it matter?”

“What does what matter?” asked Jethro.

“If I die in a horrible car crash,” said Tony trying not to sound like Wayne.

“You won’t die,” said Jethro.  “Or at least, you will but not in a car crash when I’m driving.”  He shot a look at Tony’s white face and slowed down a little.

“Where did you train?” asked Tony staring straight ahead as he found it reduced the sensation of speed.

“Bethesda.”

“You were in the Navy?”

“Yep.”

“Figures.”

“Yeah?”

“Guess the Navy skimps on the bedside manner part of the training in favour of telling sailors to suck it up,” said Tony.

“I can be nice,” said Jethro mildly.  “When I need to.  But I’m the only doctor around here and I need to keep things moving.”  He swung on the steering wheel and threw his jeep down a bumpy track.  Tony decided it would be better not to distract him by talking.

Tony’s head had just about reconnected with his body by the time he and Jethro got to the front door of the small house.  The door flew open when they got there,

“’Bout time you got here,” said the young woman standing on the doorstep.  “Who’s this?”

“Tony,” said Jethro.

“The gopher,” said Tony blandly.

“Gopher?  Well, here, take this and empty it over there,” she shoved a container into Tony’s unwilling hands.

He looked in panic at Jethro.  “It’s Daisy’s commode,” he said, “It needs emptying.”  For a moment it looked as if Jethro might soon be wearing the contents of the commode but Tony narrowed his lips and stalked off in the direction of the outside lavatory.

Jethro waited for him to return and grinned at the offended look on his gopher’s face before leading him into Daisy’s bedroom.  Tony soon had proof that Jethro could indeed _be nice_ if he needed to.  He was patient with the slightly confused Daisy and her harassed carer and allowed the elderly lady to hold his hand while she told him about the noises she had heard during the night.

“Got any respite care lined up, Lyndie?” he asked of the carer.

“Next week,” she said.  “I don’t want her to go but …”

“You know you have to,” said Jethro firmly, “We’ve talked about this before.  If you don’t have a break, you won’t be able to care for her.”

“I know,” said Lyndie before bursting into tears.

“Shall I make some tea?” asked Tony, discovering that he both wanted to help and get out of the room.

Gibbs nodded approval and Tony slipped out of the room and went to find the kitchen.  Jethro had wondered what sort of tea his gopher would make but was pleasantly surprised to find that Tony laid it out neatly on a tray and brought it back with some ceremony.  Lyndie smiled at the sight and then laughed even more when it was found that Tony had forgotten to put tea in the pot.

“I’ll go make some more,” she said.

“I’ll come with you,” said Jethro.  Tony got up to follow them but Jethro nodded for him to stay indicating he wanted a private word with Lyndie.

Jethro continued to _be nice_ to Lyndie and managed to reconcile her to the prospect of Daisy going into respite care for a few days. 

“Better go rescue that boy of yours,” she said at last.

“Do him good,” said Jethro brutally although he was fairly sure that there had been no mishap in their absence.

As they returned to Daisy, they heard the sound of singing and found that Daisy and Tony were singing, slightly off-key, “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do!”  From the strained look on Tony’s face, Jethro guessed that he had already sung it several times and was wondering how to stop.

Both Jethro and Tony were in thoughtful mood as they drove away from Lyndie and Daisy.  This meant that Gibbs was driving slower than usual which in turn meant that Tony spotted something odd in the ditch by the side of the road,

“Stop!” he cried.

Jethro’s reactions were superb and he slammed on the brakes immediately.  “What?”

“There’s something back there,” said Tony.

“You sure?” asked Jethro but he was already getting out of the jeep.

Tony wanted to stay in the jeep or run away but instead found himself running after Jethro to the spot where another car had run off the road and almost out of sight in the ditch.

“Call 911,” ordered Jethro as he threw him his cell.  “Tell them Hudson’s Lane by the fork with Kinder Way.  Then stay here!”

Tony made the call and then hesitated.  He didn’t want to see what was in the ditch but once again felt the need to help.  He trotted forward,

“Can I do anything?” he asked.

Jethro looked up, “You OK with blood?”

“I don’t know,” said Tony honestly.

Jethro looked undecided for a second, “Come here.  Don’t throw up.  Don’t faint.  And do what I tell you.”

Tony swallowed and went to join Jethro.  He recoiled at the sight but somehow his revulsion gave way to the urge to help.  “You’ll be OK,” said Jethro, “Do what I tell you.  Head wounds always bleed a lot; they look worse than they are.”

Tony wasn’t sure how much comfort that was but he concentrated on doing what Jethro told him.  He held on to things, lifted things, counted when asked to and generally managed not to get in the way.  His quick ears heard the emergency vehicle coming and Jethro ordered him to get out and flag it down.

Later that day, Jethro delivered Tony back to Wilma.

“Jethro,” she said as she opened the door, “You didn’t need to bring the boy home ... my word, what happened?  Are you all right, Tony?”

Tony looked pale and tired and had an impressive amount of blood on his shirt.

“It’s not his,” said Jethro.  “See you tomorrow, Tony.”

Wilma watched him go and then said, “Looks as if you’ve had an exciting day, child.”

“Nana Wilma,” said Tony, “Did you know that Dr Gibbs has a motto?”

“No, what is it?”

“Suck it up.  I’ve been doing that a lot today.”

“Oh dear,” said Wilma, wondering if she’d done the right thing.  “Was it … interesting?”  Did you enjoy it?”

There was a brief spark in Tony’s eyes before he remembered that he was a laidback, blasé teenager, “It was OK,” he said.

XXXXX

The rest of Tony and Jethro’s week together was less exciting although Tony continued to find travelling in Jethro’s jeep to be altogether too exciting for him.  The patients seemed to like the new gopher and enjoyed having a new audience to share their symptoms with.  Jethro thought he could see Tony’s stomach hardening a little more each day.

“Clyde Dulay,” announced Tony one morning towards the end of the week, “And his Mom, Mrs Dulay.”

Jethro looked up as Staci Dulay pulled her son in after her.

“Dr Jethro,” she said, “I hear you did some emergency medicine out by Lyndie’s the other day.”

“Yes,” said Jethro.

“Sergeant Jones is telling everyone that you saved young Tabitha’s life.”  Jethro nodded non-committally.  “And that the roads along there are death-traps,” she continued.  Jethro shrugged while Tony looked alarmed.

“What can I do for you today?” asked Jethro.

“Can’t you tell?” asked Staci.

“Wouldn’t have asked if I could.”

“It’s Clyde,” she lowered her voice, “His skin.”

Tony looked with interest at Jethro wondering if a bad case of acne would be a prompt for him to _be nice_ or in _suck up_ mode.

“Told you before, Clyde,” said Jethro, “You need to keep using the cream.  Doing the cleansing.  Watching what you eat.”

Clyde flushed with embarrassment making his skin look even worse.

“Can you do that?” asked Jethro.

“Suppose,” muttered Clyde.

“Speak up,” urged Staci, “Dr Jethro is a busy man.  He hasn’t got time to wait for you.”

Jethro repeated his question.

“I guess,” said Clyde looking at his feet.

The two adults gazed at Clyde without saying anything.  There was a mutual sigh as if they’d realised they’d said all they could but then Tony spoke,

“it will work,” he said.  “I had zits last year.  The school matron gave me some cream and stopped me eating fries.  Took a while but they went away.”

Clyde looked up with interest, “Why do you have a matron?”

“It was a prep school,” said Tony, “They did weird things like that.  But the cream and the diet stuff worked.  Not right away but it did work.”

“Yeah?” asked Clyde.

“Sure.”

“I hate having all these spots,” confided Clyde.

“I know, man,” said Tony, “But if anyone gives you any grief … well, just remember they’re morons.  They’re not worth losing sleep over.”

“I guess,” said Clyde doubtfully.

“Hey man,” said Tony, “Do what Dr Jethro said and then suck it up.”

Jethro’s lips twitched at the way that Tony’s voice sounded so much like his own but he simply said, “You want me to give another prescription for the cream and wash?  And a diet list?”

“Yeah,” said Clyde, “I’ll give it another go.”  He looked at Tony’s clear skin and obviously saw a vision of hope.

Tony ushered Staci and Clyde out and exchanged some complicated sort of handshake with the boy before they left.  It wasn’t long before Tony was back with a smug look on his face.

“Tell me, _Dr_ Tony,” said Jethro, “How bad was your acne?”

“Acne?” said Tony in horror, “DiNozzos don’t get _acne_.  I had a few zits but they went.”

“So why did you say all that to Clyde?  If it wasn’t true?”

“You saying your cure won’t work?” challenged Tony.

“No.”

“He just needed to trust,” said Tony.  “And I gave him an incentive.”

“An incentive?”

“Sure … looking like me – that’s got to be anyone’s dream.”

He looked at Jethro and said hastily, “I’ll go get Mrs Major.”

“Good idea,” said Jethro gravely.

XXXXX

Wilma opened the door on Saturday to find Jethro standing there with two fishing poles in his hand.

“Thought Tony might want to go fishing,” he announced.

Tony had heard the sound of the door and come to investigate.

“Dr Jethro wants to know if you’ll go fishing with him,” she left them to it.

“I’m still not looking for a father figure,” said Tony.

“And I’m still not looking for a son figure,” said Gibbs.

“Just so long as we’re clear,” said Tony.

“We’re clear,” said Gibbs, “You coming fishing?”

“Sure,” said Tony, “I haven’t got anything else to do.”

Jethro bit back on a hasty response, “Grab your gear then.  I’ve got lunch in the jeep.”

“Took a lot for granted, didn’t you?” grumbled Tony.

Gibbs shrugged.

It wasn’t long before they were sitting at Jethro’s favourite fishing spot.

“You fished before?” he asked.

“Sure … not for a while though.”  Jethro left a silence which Tony characteristically filled, “Used to go with my Dad.  But that was before my Mom died.”

“How long was that?”

“Bout 8 or 9 years.  Things changed after that.”

“Yeah.  That’s what happens,” said Jethro.

“I guess there are some good things,” said Tony after a few moments looking hopefully at his fishing line.

“Yeah?”

“I get extra sets of grandparents.  And great-grandparents.  For a while, at least.”

“I think Wilma and Jasper will be keepers,” said Jethro.

“Hope so,” said Tony.  “I like them.  And I like it here.”

“But you’d like to be with your Dad more?”

“I guess.  But I’m learning.”

“What?”

“Not to wish for things you can’t have.”

“Fair enough,” said Jethro.

“And not to wish for things that won’t make you happy – even if you hope they will.”

“That’s a tough lesson to learn,” said Jethro.

“School has helped,” said Tony.  “Didn’t think it would.  Didn’t want it to but it did.  Made me realise that acting out was getting me anywhere.  Well, it was but nowhere any good.  And I knew that all the time … but …”

“We don’t always act sensible,” said Jethro, “Hey, I had my moments.”

“Really?” said Tony with an obvious spike in curiosity.

“Which I’m not going to tell you about,” said Jethro firmly.

“So, I think it’s time to stop being an idiot.”

“It’s always a good time to stop being an idiot,” said Jethro.

“But it is fun sometimes,” said Tony.  “Or, if not fun exactly … there’s a sort of satisfaction about hitting out.  But it doesn’t last … and the pain does.  I guess I’ve got to _suck it up_?”

“’Fraid so,” said Jethro.  “Sometimes it’s what you have to do.”

“Yeah, time to be sensible and grown up,” said Tony gloomily.

Jethro laughed not unsympathetically.

“Hey,” said Tony, “Thank you for this week.  For treating me like an adult.”

“You did well,” said Jethro.  “Wilma was right.  You’ve got something.”

“Thanks.  I think, I mean you don’t mean I’ve got an infectious disease or anything?”

“No.  Although you may have a zit coming!”

Tony yelped in horror and felt his face anxiously.

“Wilma said you want to do phys-ed when you leave school.  That still what you want to do?”

Jethro was surprised at how hopefully he awaited the answer.

“Hell, yes!” said Tony, “Four years of playing sport.  It’ll be great.”

“Hmm,” said Jethro.

“I know it sounds … self-centred,” said Tony, “But it’s been rough since Mom died.  And I really like the idea of going and doing something _I_ want to do for a while.  I’m tired of people telling me what to do.  Of people picking me up and putting me down where I don’t want to go.  I just want to find out who _I_ am.  Is that so bad?”

Jethro looked at the young man next to him and couldn’t find it in his heart to disagree with him.  “No, I guess not,” he said.

“And I looked it up,” said Tony, “A phys-ed degree could help me get into med school.”

Jethro brightened, “That’s what you want to do?”

“I think so.  It was good this week.”

“It’s not always as exciting,” said Jethro, “It’s not all pulling people out of car wrecks, you know.”

“I know,” said Tony.  “And I think I’d rather do what you do.  You know, a bit of everything.”

“Good choice,” said Jethro.

“Although,” said Tony, “There was one bit I enjoyed.”

“What was that?  Talking to Clyde?  Lots of work for dermatologists, you know.”

“No,” said Tony, “Not that.  I thought about geriatrics.  Old people are interesting,” he gazed at Jethro who hoped he wasn’t getting inspiration from him in that regard.

“Good,” said Jethro.  “And If I can help with applications, recommendations … anything – let me know.”

“Thanks,” said Tony.  He hesitated, “I’m still not in the market for a father figure but … maybe a sort of surrogate father figure …”

“Hmm,” said Jethro, “That might work.  Turns out I wouldn’t mind a surrogate son figure either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure whether or not I’d want Gibbs as my doctor but it was interesting to think what Dr Jethro would be like.
> 
> And thank you for Linda123 for the information about the usefulness of a phys-ed degree.


	15. Chapter 15

“Gibbs!”

“Director?”

“Got a job for you.”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, “Dispatch out to lunch?” he asked.

“What?” asked Director Vance.

“Usually get our _jobs_ through Dispatch,” said Gibbs mildly.  “Thought they must be out if you’re doing their job.”

Vance’s eyes narrowed slightly but he decided not to rise to the bait.  “Don’t worry, Gibbs, I haven’t taken over from Dispatch.  This case comes straight from Sec Nav.”

“Yes?” said Gibbs.

“SecNav is hosting a security conference at Manassas …”

“Manassas?” asked Agent McGee as he edged closer.

“Yes.  CEOs of companies which supply the Navy will be there along with military chiefs of staff.  It’s timed to coincide with a major re-enactment of the second Battle of Manassas.”

“In 1862,” murmured McGee informatively.  He sensed Gibbs’ displeasure, “Sorry, Boss.  Thought you might not know.”

“Where do we come in?” asked Gibbs.

“FBI have picked up some chatter that the conference might be a target.”

“The _FBI_?” asked Gibbs, “What’s it got to do with them?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Director, “Public safety, protection of property- they tend to be interested in that sort of thing.  And yes, I know,” he raised a hand to ward off further comments, “In an ideal world it would be obvious which intel related to Navy matters and which to others but, as we all know, we don’t live in an ideal world.”

Gibbs shrugged.

“The FBI have passed their information on to us but it looks as if they’ve been aware of the potential threat for a number of days,” said Vance.

“And they didn’t tell us?” asked Gibbs.

“We are where we are,” said Vance, “And I will be having a _robust_ discussion with the Director of the FBI about sharing of intel.  In the meantime, however, the FBI are on the ground and it makes sense that they continue to appear to take the lead.”

“Appear to?” said Gibbs looking a little more cheerful.

“Yes.  They will take charge of general security while NCIS will shadow as many of the leading participants as possible,” said Vance.  “And there’s a particular task that SecNav thinks your team will be well suited for.”

Gibbs’ sense of well-being proved to be fleeting as a feeling of impending doom swept it away.

“What?” he asked.

“SecNav wants you and Agent McGee to form part of the Civil War re-enactment.  He feels that the re-enactment could be cover for intruders, especially given the presence of Civil War guns and rifles.”

“Costumes?” asked McGee.

“Costumes,” confirmed Vance.  “You, Agent McGee will be wearing the uniform of a Confederate soldier while you, Agent Gibbs, will in a Union uniform.”

Gibbs and McGee, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, set off to collect their uniforms and then discuss strategy.  The Director called Gibbs back from the elevator,

“Jethro, I spoke to the FBI Director.  He seemed rather smug and he let slip that he has their best undercover agent working at Manassas.  Be on the lookout.”

“Sir,” agreed Gibbs.

“And who knows?  It’s time you filled the space on your team.  Perhaps you can poach him.”

“Hmm,” said Gibbs.

“That would teach them not to keep us informed,” said the Director with a hint of malice.

NCISNCIS

The first day of the re-enactment wasn’t going to involve any actual (or rather, pretend) combat but would cover the assembly of the forces and the drawing up of lines.  Unlike the real conflict 150 years before, the two sides were friendly with each other and ready to discuss their uniforms and previous sites they had been to.  This meant that Gibbs and McGee were able to talk together without raising suspicions.

“What side did your family fight on, Gibbs?” asked McGee.

“Hard to tell, McGee.  Not so far back I had folks fight on both sides,” replied Gibbs.

“Which side do you think _you’d_ have fought on?” asked McGee.  Gibbs sighed.  “’Course, Boss.  Stupid question.  You’d have been on the winning side.”

Gibbs grinned as he realised that McGee had complete confidence in his Boss.  “McGee, walk around the perimeter.  Keep an eye out.”

“For what?  You know, I guess I’ll know when I see it.”  He nodded and walked off in the direction indicated by Gibbs.

Gibbs himself went for a walk in the opposite direction and soon came to a quieter part of the battleground site.  He stood at the top of an incline and looked down upon the busy scene.

“Quite some sight, isn’t it?”

Gibbs never jumped but he was taken by surprise by the soft voice behind him.  He looked around, “Guess so,” he agreed.  He looked at his new companion, “You on the Union side?” he asked, “ _Lieutenant_?”

There was a twinkle in the young man’s eyes, “Yes.  Glad you to see you are too, First Sergeant.”

Gibbs looked at the officer’s uniform which was dusty and a little dirty, “Been here long?”

“Long enough.”

“You like doing this sort of thing?”

“What sort of thing?”

Gibbs gestured to the ranks of Civil War re-enactors, “War games.”

The officer shrugged, “Not really.  Not my sort of thing.  What about you?”

“It can be interesting,” said Gibbs vaguely.  He wanted to say that he had seen too much of the real suffering of combat to be interested in reliving it but that wouldn’t go with his cover.  “What are you doing here then?  If it’s not your sort of thing?”

“No choice,” he smiled.  “I follow orders.  Do what has to be done.”

Gibbs took a risk, “Gibbs.”

“DiNozzo,” came the reply, “Anthony.”

Gibbs assessed the young man and decided he was different to the other enactors.  Somehow he guessed that he’d come across the FBI’s prized undercover expert.  “What do you think?” he asked.

“About what?” replied Anthony innocently.

“Feel safe to you?”

“Safe?”  Anthony laughed.  “No way.”

“Anything in particular?” asked Gibbs.  He saw the young man hesitate and went on quickly, “This isn’t a time to keep things close to your vest.  If you see something dangerous, you need to share it.”

“Well,” said Anthony, “I think there’s an area over to the North West where the watch isn’t so tight.  Someone determined might be able to get through.”

Gibbs nodded.  He had already spotted the same weakness and passed on his concerns to the team in charge of security.  “What time is the main event tomorrow?” he asked.

“Can’t remember,” said Anthony.  “And anyway, things like this seem to go on for ever.  You ever been in combat, Gibbs?”

“Too often,” said Gibbs.  “And I’ve lost people.  Too many people.  What about you?”

“I’ve had fights,” said Anthony.  He looked sadly across the grass, “Sometimes they all seem to merge into one.  You know how that feels?”

“Yeah.  I know what that’s like.”

“Looks as if someone’s looking for you, Gibbs,” said Anthony.  “Coming up the hill.  He’s panting.  Must be important.”

Gibbs sighed as he saw that McGee’s stamina was still not quite up to scratch although, to be fair, he’d probably had a long walk.  He decided to save McGee some energy and walked towards him.

“Hey, Boss,” said McGee.  “Thought you’d want to know that that breach in security you spotted has been filled.”

“Anything else?” asked Gibbs.

“No.  Some uniforms are better than others.  People who’ve been here longest have the ones which look most authentic.  You know, dusty … I think they’ve been sleeping under canvas the whole time.  Feels like a good atmosphere.  I mean, for people who are about to re-enact a horrible bloody conflict.”

“Come on, McGee.  We’ll go get some chow.  Then we’ll take it in turns to walk around.  Just casually but I want to get a feel for what’s going on.”

NCISNCIS

Early next morning, Gibbs climbed the incline and looked out over the camp.  It was useful to get as panoramic view as possible and he found it brought back memories of his days of lying in wait as a sniper.  He had brought a travel mug of coffee with him and sat down to consider what to do.

“Good spot,” said Anthony as he joined him.

Gibbs nodded peacefully.  Early morning was his best time, a time before the world woke up and made its demands.  “You’re up early,” he commented.

“Things to do, people to see,” said Anthony. “You know what that’s like.”

“Are you just wandering around?” asked Gibbs.  “Watching brief?”

Anthony laughed, “You don’t expect me to tell you that, Gibbs!”

“Guess not,” said Gibbs.

“But last night,” said Anthony, “I heard someone say your name.”

“Yes?”

“Didn’t sound as if he liked you.  In a Confederate uniform but I didn’t see his face.  You got any enemies here?”

“Probably,” said Gibbs.  “There’s plenty of people don’t care for me.”

“You surprise me, Gibbs,” said Tony solemnly but that twinkle in his eye.  “Watch out for yourself.”

“Always,” said Gibb.

NCISNCIS

Later that day Gibbs and McGee met up with Director Vance in a quiet location.

“What’s up, Leon?” asked Gibbs.

“FBI just arrested three people who were trying to steal secret material from one of the Navy’s suppliers.”

“Important information?” asked McGee.  “Of course it was, they wouldn’t have been trying to steal a muffin recipe.”

Vance was mollified by Tim’s quick realisation of what he had said, “Yes, it could have endangered the launch of the next generation of ships.”

“That’s good then,” said Gibbs.  “So, what’s wrong?”

“The FBI are smug because their undercover expert gave them the intel,” said Vance bitterly, “And I don’t like NCIS being beholden to the FBI.”

Gibbs didn’t like it either but at least he had the satisfaction of having identified the undercover expert and could begin to make a move on recruiting him.  “What next, Leon?” he asked.

“Carry on.  The FBI think they’ve arrested the people there was chatter about but we’ve got a lot of VIPs here and there will be some big bangs later on.  Could be easy to have a distraction,” said the Director.

McGee and Gibbs nodded agreement and moved away to begin another of their circuits of the battlefield.  The enactors were beginning to draw up their lines and it was likely that the _big bangs_ would start soon.   Gibbs didn’t want to be involved in the mock conflict so began to move towards the incline once more.  As he walked to the vantage point he was startled to be suddenly knocked to the ground and to hear the sound of a bullet whistling by.

“What the hell!” he exclaimed.

“Stay down!” ordered Anthony.

“What’s going on?” asked Gibbs.

“Someone had you in their sights,” said Anthony who had dropped down next to him.  “See?”

Gibbs looked where he was pointing and nodded.  He got his cell out and called McGee.  “McGee, get a team.  Where you met me yesterday, at the bottom of the incline. Someone just took a shot at me. Yes, I’m fine.  Let me know when you’re in position.  I’ve got them in sight, I’ll let you know if they move away.”

Marcus Goldaway wasn’t the brightest sailor Gibbs had ever caught and he proved that again by trying to kill his nemesis in a place flooded with federal agents and security police but without DiNozzo’s warning he might have been successful although he wasn’t a good shot.  Gibbs, now even more keen to recruit Anthony, was grateful and thanked him.

“No worries,” he said.  “Enough people have died here already.  No need to add to them.”

“Still,” said Gibbs.  “That was good work.  You know, if you want a change of scene … well, I’m always on the lookout for good people.”

“Well,” said Anthony, “A change of scene would be good …”

“Let me know,” said Gibbs.

“I will,” promised Anthony.  “And now, I’d better be going.  Things to do …”

“And people to see,” Gibbs finished for him.

NCISNCIS

“Special Agent Gibbs”, said the Secretary of the Navy a little later in the day, “Can I introduce you to one of the Navy’s suppliers?”

Gibbs looked at him askance; he was known for his crime-fighting abilities rather than his ability to schmooze and it seemed foolhardy of SecNav to entrust someone important to Gibbs.  A moment later, however, and Gibbs realised that SecNav was trying to get rid of the guy.  Gibbs suspected that he was being over-persistent about trying to get a deal.

“Special Agent Gibbs,” said the man, “The Secretary has told me so much about you,” he smiled charmingly, “Anthony DiNozzo.”

Gibbs almost registered surprise and began to wonder if the other Anthony DiNozzo had had inside information about the people trying to steal secrets.  As he was trying to process this information he saw the Director of the FBI walking past with a middle aged woman in tow.

“You know,” said Mr DiNozzo leaning in confidentially, “I understand that woman is an FBI agent.  Their top undercover agent, in fact.”  Gibbs looked at him quizzically and Mr DiNozzo smirked, “I hear things, you know.”  And he touched the side of his nose knowingly.

Gibbs smiled politely, thinking that perhaps Mr DiNozzo didn’t know as much as he thought.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” went on Mr DiNozzo.  “I’m a great fan of these re-enactments.  I used to take part, you know.”

“Yeah?” asked Gibbs.  He began to edge away.  He was prevented from getting too far as McGee came to report to him.

“There’s a family connection, you know,” continued Mr DiNozzo.

Gibbs stopped edging away as he seemed to be about to find out a little more information about the other Anthony DiNozzo.

“Yes?” he said.

“Yes, one of my ancestors … I forget how many greats there are … fought in the Civil War.  At Manassas, in fact.  He was a DiNozzo too.”

“That’s an unusual name isn’t it?” asked McGee, “You know, for mid nineteenth century America?  It’s an Italian name, isn’t it?”

“My family settled here for about thirty years,” said Mr DiNozzo, “But then things got hard and we went back to Italy.”

“But your ancestor fought in the war,” said Gibbs.

“Yes.  Didn’t need to.  I don’t think he was officially a US citizen but he thought it was his duty.  His father wanted him to keep working in the family business but he refused.  He’d only just got married too but he wouldn’t listen to reason.  Believed in a higher cause.”

Gibbs looked at Mr DiNozzo and somehow thought that _higher causes_ weren’t big with him.

“Lots of people did,” said Gibbs neutrally.

“What happened to your ancestor?” asked McGee.

“Oh, he was killed,” said Mr DiNozzo.  “At the second battle here.  I have a copy of a miniature of him, would you like to see it?”  He put his hand into an inside pocket.  “I sold the original.  Made a lot of money but this copy is good.”

Gibbs reached out to take the picture and somehow wasn’t surprised to see a young lieutenant in a dusty uniform gazing out at him.  It was a good likeness; Gibbs could even see the twinkle he had come to know.

“Does your son enjoy the re-enactments?” asked Gibbs grasping at a straw.

“My son?  I don’t have a son,” said Mr DiNozzo.

Gibbs nodded as this last hope faded.  “Excuse me,” he said and he walked away.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs stood for a long time at the top of the incline but as dusk fell he realised he wasn’t alone.

“You know?” said Anthony.

“Yes.  I guess a change of scene is out of the question?”

Anthony laughed, “Yes.”

“Too bad,” said Gibbs.

“I appreciated the offer,” said Anthony.

Gibbs sat down with his back against a tree.  Anthony sat down with him and they sat in a companionable silence and watched over the people below as the shadows continued to lengthen.

Sometime during the night, Gibbs fell asleep.  When he awoke he was alone … but not lonely.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said.  “Got to go, things to do …”

“And people to see …” came a whisper in the leaves as he walked away.


	16. Chapter 16

“More coffee, Signor Gibbs?”

“Sure,” said Gibbs.  In fact, even his legendary capacity for coffee had been reached but he recognised that the young man needed to be doing something so he held out his cup for yet another refill.

“How long does it take?”

“Nature can’t be rushed,” said Gibbs philosophically.

“That is not quite true, Signor Gibbs.”

“Huh?”

“This is not meant to be happening yet.  Nature _is_ in a hurry!”

“Ah,” said Gibbs.  “I had wondered.”

PREVIOUSLY

The wagon train had picked up a few new members when it passed through Carson City on its way to California.  Among them had been the young Italian couple: the wife with a shy smile and limited English and her husband with a charming grin and very correct English.  The young man had made an effort to get to know the other members of the train but his first concern had been for his wife each night when the wagons stopped moving.

The train was about 400 miles from its final destination when the new couple came to everyone’s attention as it became clear that the wagon train was about to get a new member.

Jethro Gibbs, assistant wagon master to the train, noticed that the Italians’ wagon had fallen behind.  Cursing under his breath he rode back to tell them to keep up.  “Move it!” he shouted as he got near.

A harassed looking face peered out of the back of the wagon, “We cannot!  My wife is having pains!”

“What sort of pains?”

“The sort women have before they have their baby,” came the panicked reply.

“OK,” said Gibbs, “Stay with her.  I’ll drive your wagon up to join the rest.  We’ll stop for the night.”  Gibbs tied his horse to the back of the wagon and then swung himself up to the driving position to drive back to the train and tell everyone to make camp for the night.

NOW

“When was the baby due?” Gibbs asked.

“Not for another four weeks.”

Gibbs hissed but disguised the sound with another gulp of coffee.  An early arrival was not good for a baby born on the trail.

“Don’t worry,” said Gibbs.  “You’re lucky.  Not many trains have a doctor along for the ride.”

“It would be more lucky if my wife did not need the attentions of a doctor,” came the sharp reply.

Gibbs nodded.  The young Italian had looked distinctly put out at the thought of his wife being helped by a man but the woman who usually helped with the birthings had soon realised that this was a difficult labour and had called for help.

“I don’t know your name,” said Gibbs. 

“Antonello Dominico DiNozzo.”

“What?” asked Gibbs as he tried to untangle the rush of syllables.

“But you may find it more easy to call me Tony.  I fear our Italian names are too long for Americans.”

“Tony,” agreed Gibbs.

“Francesca and I are trying to become more American,” said Tony.

“How long have you been in America?” asked Gibbs.  He knew that the people who knew him might be surprised that he was making conversation but he felt the need to distract the young man whose eyes kept travelling anxiously back to the wagon.

“I came when I was six years old,” said Tony.  “Papa brought Mamma and me to New York.  He no longer wanted for us to live in Italy.  Excuse me, I mean he no longer wanted us to live in Italy.”

“Your English is very good,” said Gibbs.

“Thank you.  Mamma was English.  She used to speak with me in English.”

“That explains it,” said Gibbs.

“She died when I was eight,” said Tony, “So it was more difficult after that.”

Gibbs wasn’t sure if Tony meant the English or life although, on reflection, he thought it was both.

“I try to read a lot,” said Tony.  “To improve my English.  I have some of Mamma’s books.  She liked to read Charles Dickens: _Pickwick Papers_ and _Oliver Twist_.  You know these?”

Gibbs shook his head, “No.  I don’t read much.  Just newspapers.  I read Fennimore Cooper once when I was laid up with a broken leg.”

“Francesca scolds me for reading,” admitted Tony.  “But I tell her that it is useful.  I often find helpful information or ideas in the books.”

“In _Pickwick Papers_?” asked Gibbs doubtfully.

“But yes.  It helps me understand people.  Although, you may be right to be … what is the word … dubious?  I have never met people like some of Signor Dickens’ characters.”  Tony’s eyes drifted back to the wagon.  Gibbs hastened to speak before he could be offered another cup of coffee,

“What did your father do in New York?”

“I am not sure.  He says he is a businessman.  An entrepreneur.  When Mamma died he sent me to live with his brother, my uncle Vincenzo and his family.  Uncle Vincenzo is a butcher.”

“You’re a butcher?”

“I am an excellent butcher,” said Tony proudly.  “I could cut up any of the animals around us in the most efficient way.  Although,” he added wistfully, “I hope I do not have to cut up Matilda soon.”

“Matilda?”

“I told Francesca that she should not name the cow,” said Tony, “But my wife does not always listen to me.”  He smiled as if he didn’t mind really.

“You’re going to California to be a butcher?”

“No.  I can butcher … is that correct?”  Gibbs shrugged.  “But I do not want to do that.  Do you know what also comes from animals, Signor Gibbs?”

“Fat?”

“That is true but I was thinking of hide, of the leather.  Zio Vincenzo had many skins and I became interested in how they could be used.  I make things out of leather.”

“Shoes, boots?”

Tony might be trying to downplay his Italian roots but he gave an expressive exotic gesture in reply that didn’t seem very American to Gibbs.  “Many things!  Shoes, yes.  Boots, yes.  But also fine purses, bags, belts … it is like works of art.”

Gibbs grinned at his enthusiasm and his confidence.  “And you couldn’t do that in New York?”

The smile faded from Tony’s face.  “I decided it would be good to leave.  I wish to live an honest life.”

“And you couldn’t do that in New York?”

“Some of my father’s business _partners_ wanted me to join them.  And I did not want to do so.  I remember sometimes as a child being afraid to hear a knock at the door in the middle of the night.  I do not wish my own child to know that fear.  So I left.  And the air is cleaner out here.  In many ways.”

Gibbs nodded. 

“When did you leave?”

“Two years ago.  I saved enough to get to Carson City and I worked there until I had saved enough to get to California.”

“And your wife?”

“Ah, Francesca,” Tony smiled as he seemed to whenever he said her name.  “She was also in Carson City.  Working in a shop.  A shop that sold ladies’ clothes.  We met when I went in to try and sell the belts I had made.”

“Ah,” said Gibbs.  “And did you – sell them, I mean?”

“Of course.  My work is very good.  And I have charm.  And,” he leaned forward, “It seems that Americans like my accent.”  He nodded knowingly and somehow Gibbs had no difficulty in picturing the scene in the ladies’ shop.  “We were married six months later and now we are on our way to a new life.  We have a place waiting for us near Suisun Bay.”

“What will you do there?  Are you going to farm?  Look for gold?”

“I hope to sell my beautiful work to people who have _found_ gold,” said Tony logically and showing it was not just his father who looked for business opportunties.  “But we also dream of having some land as well.  Francesca’s family grow olives in Italy and she would like to live surrounded by olives once more.”

“What do you use olives for?” asked Gibbs.

“Excuse me?”

“Olives, what do you do with them?”

Gibbs allowed his attention to wander for a while as Tony talked passionately about the wonder of olives.  He wished he had known about them earlier because it would have saved him having to make conversation.  Tony’s fluency ran down eventually and he looked once more the wagon.

“Hey,” said Gibbs, “The sheath for my knife is wearing out.  You think you could do something with it?”  He unstrapped the belt and showed it to Tony.

“Of course.  It is very important that you never be without your knife,” said Tony.  “I will start work on it at once.”  He stood up and rummaged in the box he had been sitting on and drew out some tools.  If Gibbs had hoped that the work would distract Tony, he was disappointed.

“Signor Gibbs, what are you going to do when we get to California?”

“I’m going to look around,” said Gibbs vaguely.

“You are going to look for gold?”

Gibbs shuddered.  The thought of joining the hundreds and thousands of men scrabbling for gold filled him with horror.  “No,” he said.

“You are going to farm, perhaps?”

“May be.  A friend of mine is a federal marshal.  He says that lots of small towns are looking for someone to keep the peace.”

“I think you would be good at that.  You keep the wagon train in order,” said Tony.  “Everyone makes sure they do what you tell them.”

“I guess,” said Gibbs.  “Nothing definite for now.”

“And your family – will they be joining you?”

Gibbs took a sip of cold coffee, “No family.  Not now.”

“I am sorry.  I did not mean to … what is the word?”

“Pry,” supplied Gibbs promptly.

“Pry.  Are you sure that is the word?  I thought it meant something different.  About opening something?”

“It means both,” said Gibbs.

The frown on Tony’s face made Gibbs think that the word Tony used in response may have been an Italian swear word.

“Although, to tell the truth,” continued Tony when he had come to terms with the multiple use of yet another word, “I do like to pry.  I am … nosy?  Francesca tells me off for it.  But I tell her that it is good for business to know what the customers are doing.”

“And is it?” asked Gibbs.

“Oh, of course.  Often it is useful.  But I admit that it is also most satisfying.”

Gibbs grinned at his honesty.

“So you once had a family?” asked Tony who was obviously persistent as well as nosy.

“Yes.  I was married …”

“And you have children?”

“I did,” said Gibbs, “A daughter.”

The curse word came again.  “I am sorry.  I did not think.  I was going to ask you how long it took your wife to give birth to your child … Francesca is right.  I am too careless.”

“I wasn’t there when my wife gave birth,” said Gibbs, “I worked as a scout for the army and I was away.”

“I see.  Here, your belt is good once more.  I could do a better job in a better light but, hey, a bad workman always blames his tools.  That is an Italian proverb.  And I am not a bad workman.”

Gibbs took the belt back and decided not to argue the point about where the saying came from.

“Is there something I should be doing?” asked Tony as his thoughts returned once again to what was happening in the wagon.

“Could boil some more water,” he suggested.  “Womenfolk always seem to do that when there’s a child on the way.”

“We have already boiled do much,” said Tony, “And the doctor has not asked for any of it yet.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to boil some more,” advised Gibbs.

“Is this doctor …”

“Doc Mallard?”

“Yes, Doctor Mallard … but I thought a mallard was a type of cat?”

“Bird … a duck,” corrected Gibbs.

“Thank you, a duck.  I will try to remember.  Is this doctor a good doctor?”

“One of the best,” said Gibbs.  “He’s saved my life.”

“Then if he is so good,” said the suspicious Tony, “Why is he travelling with the wagon train?”

“He likes to doctor,” said Gibbs, “And it was a way of getting paid to go to California.”

“And what does he want to do there?”

“I’m not sure,” said Gibbs, “He said something about wanting to start a vineyard.”

“I see.  It would probably do well.  I believe the climate in California is much like Italy in places so, of course, grapes would prosper.”

Gibbs hid another smile at the Tony who, while trying to be American, could not help but still think all things Italian were best.

“I would be able to help.  Wine is in the blood of Italians.”

Gibbs was about to say that he was sure the doctor would be glad of advice when the air was rent with the sound of a woman’s scream.  Tony jumped up and went towards the wagon but Gibbs was faster and got to him first,

“Leave it,” he said, “They’ll let us know if they need us.”

Tony sat down shakily and ran his fingers through his hair.  “It should be easier than this,” he moaned.

“She’s in good hands,” said Gibbs hoping he was right.  “So,” he continued, “What are you hoping for?  A boy or a girl?”

“Francesca, she wants a little boy,” said Tony.

“And you?”

“A boy would be good.  To carry on the name.  to take over the business – when I have one.  But Signor Gibbs, shall I tell you?  I am fond of women and the thought of a little girl … well, that warms my heart.  And a little girl to look like her Mamma – that would make me happy.”

There was another scream from the wagon following by a new sound, the sound of a baby crying.  Tony looked up, sudden joy in his face.

“Wait,” said Gibbs, “They won’t want you yet.”

Tony began pacing up and down but, fortunately for Gibbs’ power of restraint, the doctor didn’t keep them waiting for long.  He emerged wearily from the wagon,

“Signor DiNozzo, your wife is waiting for you,” he said.

Tony’s correct English deserted him and he let fly a stream of Italian at Dr Mallard.

“Quite so,” said the doctor benignly, “Now, why don’t you go and see her?”

“You understand any of that, Doc?” asked Gibbs as they watched Tony clamber in to see his wife.

“Not one word,” said Dr Mallard cheerfully, "But I think I got the meaning."

“How is she?” asked Gibbs,

Dr Mallard winced as he lowered himself to the box vacated by Tony, “She has a little girl.  A beautiful child – which is not a surprise, I suppose when one considers that her parents are both so good-looking.  But she is small.”

“A month early,” said Gibbs.

“Quite so.  And there was quite a lot of bleeding.  Signora DiNozzo should not be moved for a number of days.  The jolting would be most inadvisable,” said the Doc.

“Hmm,” said Gibbs.

“The wagon train will not want to wait,” said Dr Mallard, “And I cannot remain with them.  There are other people in the train who need my help.”

“I have a daughter,” said Tony, as he emerged from the wagon with a bundle in his arms.  “See, she is so beautiful.”

Gibbs looked obediently but couldn’t see much more than a patch of pink skin.

“Thank you so much, both of you,” said Tony.

“Thank the Doc, not me,” said Gibbs gruffly, “I didn’t do much.”

“I think you did a lot.  You stopped me from going mad with anxiety.  Now, tell me, I do not know your name.”

“Gibbs,” said Gibbs.

“No, I mean your _given_ name.”

“Jethro.  Leroy, Jethro,” said Gibbs.

“Ah,” said Tony, “And now I am doubly grateful I have a daughter.”

“How so?”

“If I had had a son I might have felt the need to name him after you!  But I do not think that Jethro can ever be a name for a girl?”

“No,” said Gibbs firmly.

“And my name is Donald,” said Dr Mallard, “Which also does not translate well into a girl’s name.  Although some grateful mothers have tried.  I believe there is a young lady called Donaldina in Kansas and another called Donaldetta in Wyoming.  But …”

“What name did you have picked out?” asked Gibbs talking over the doctor who he knew could talk for hours if not stopped.

“We decided on Grace,” said Tony, “In Italian it is like Grazie and we want to be thankful but we want her to have an American name.”

“That is charming,” said Dr Mallard who was used to being tactful about parental name choices, “Now why don’t you take Grace back to her mother?”

“I will do that,” said Tony.  “And I wish to thank you once more, Dr Mallard and Mr Gibbs.”

“ _Mister_?” said Gibbs.

“My Francesca told me off once more,” said Tony.  “She said I should call you Mister and not Signor – we are Americans now.”

“Call me Gibbs,” said Gibbs.

Tony looked puzzled at this but the pull of his wife was too strong and he simply bowed and hurried away.

XXXXX

The next morning Tony sat with his wife and new daughter and listened to the wagon train pulling out.  Dr Mallard had been in earlier with instructions and a strengthening tonic but the little family knew they were alone.

“I will go and milk the cow, my darling,” said Tony smiling down at Francesca as she held baby Grace.

His smile faded when he got outside and wondered how they would manage the rest of the journey to California on their own.

“Signor Gibbs … I mean, Gibbs,” he said when he spotted Gibbs riding towards him, “You should be on your way.  You do not want to fall behind.”

For answer, Gibbs dismounted his horse.  “My horse is a little lame,” he said. 

“He is?” asked Tony.

“She is,” confirmed Gibbs.  “She needs to rest up for a few days.  If it’s all the same with you, I’ll stay here.  We can move on together, when you’re ready.”

“We do not wish to trouble you, Gibbs.”

“No trouble.  And I meant to tell you.  That friend I was telling you about …”

“The federal marshal?”

“Yeah, Tobias.  Suisun Bay was the place he recommended to me.  So, unless you say no, we can travel there together.”

Tony stared at Gibbs shrewdly and then he smiled, “We would be happy to have your company.”

“Good,” said Gibbs.  “I’ll set up my gear.”

“And Gibbs,” said Tony.

“Yeah?”

“If our next child is a boy I will be _proud_ to name him Jethro.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Name?”

“Gibbs, Jethro.”

“Ah, Mr Gibbs.  Welcome to the Atlanta Campaign Holiday Tour.  Is this the first time you’ve experienced one of our tours?”

Gibbs was about to give a one- word answer but then realised that, in his _role_ as a Civil War enthusiast, he should probably be more forthcoming.  “Yes,” he said, “I’ve been looking forward to it.  I have a particular interest in …”

“Look forward to hearing about it,” said Craig the tour leader, “Later.”

Gibbs approved the brevity but was surprised by it; he obediently moved to his seat in the bus and watched as his fellow travellers boarded and relaxed slightly when he saw retired General Benjamin _Biter_ Bittern get on.

Biter Bittern was the reason Gibbs was on the tour: he had recently attracted some unwelcome attention after a TV program focussing on a campaign he had led in Bosnia in the 1990s which had resulted in a number of causalities.  It had been suggested that the General might want to keep a low profile for a while but he had simply declared that he had been looking forward to the trip for months and wasn’t going to be put off by a ‘sensation seeking TV crew digging up dirt’. At least, Director Leon Vance said that was the gist of what he said.  The General had been equally dismissive of the suggestion of a bodyguard.  The Secretary of the Navy had been less dismissive and Gibbs had been recruited as an incognito guard.

The trip was scheduled to last ten days and would take in Civil War sites in Atlanta, Chickamauga, Chattanooga and Nashville.  Gibbs might have been looking forward to it if he had been travelling alone in his Dodge Challenger but the prospect of riding with fifteen enthusiasts sent shivers down his spine.  Correction, sixteen: Gibbs spotted a youngish looking man walking up to the bus.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Craig as he took the microphone, “Welcome once more to this tour.  We will of course do all we can to make the experience a pleasurable one.”  Gibbs gazed at Craig and somehow thought that customer care wasn’t something that came naturally to him.  As he watched, however, Craig’s face brightened, “And I’m delighted to be able to tell you that Atlanta Holidays have provided something to assist us in that aim,” Craig paused and gestured towards the young man, “We have an extra helper on board.  I’d like you to meet Tony Paddington.  He’s going to carry your bags for you, get you your beverages … and generally look after you in every way possible!”

Tony smiled graciously although Gibbs wondered if Craig’s description of his duties was different to the one he had signed on for.  Gibbs made a note of the name and decided he’d text it to McGee when he had a chance.  Tony Paddington was an unexpected addition to the holiday and Gibbs was instantly suspicious.

Tony walked along the aisle and began handing something out,

“Huh?” said Gibbs when Tony held out his hand.

“Name badges,” said Tony brightly.

“Huh?” repeated Gibbs.

“To help us all get to know one another,” explained Tony.  “You write your name on it,” he said helpfully.

“Duh,” said Gibbs.

“I have a pen,” said Tony.

“I have a pen,” said Gibbs but made no move to use it.

Tony remained where he was and continued to smile.  Gibbs remembered that he should try to blend in so took his pen out and wrote _Gibbs_ in neat black capitals.

“Er,” said Tony, “Most people put both their names on,” Gibbs stared at him.  “But, that’s fine,” said Tony showing that he had a fine sense of self preservation.  He moved on to the people behind.  Gibbs grinned to himself at the thought that he still had the power to intimidate.  The grin faded when Tony returned and sat down next to Gibbs, “You don’t mind, do you?  This is the only free seat.”

Gibbs nodded briskly and quickly stopped his texting to McGee.

“There’s complimentary Wi-Fi,” said Tony.  “And you can plug in any devices you have.  Or perhaps you’d like to watch a movie?”

“No,” said Gibbs, privately aghast at the thought of having a device which either needed charging or used Wi-Fi.  “Thank you,” and he pointedly got out a copy of a history of the American Civil War.

Tony sighed.

Gibbs didn’t need to have worried.  His fellow passengers were delighted to have Tony on board and he was much in demand for providing tea and coffee; accessing the Wi-Fi, adjusting the reclining seats and accompanying some of the frailer passengers to the on-board rest room.

NCISNCIS

General Bittern turned out to be a sociable retired General and, when the passengers reached their hotel, unpacked quickly and made his way to the bar.  Gibbs had therefore also to be sociable and positioned himself by the door so he could observe what was going on.  He had just settled in with a cup of coffee when his phone rang.

“Gibbs.”

“Boss, it’s McGee here.  How’s the trip.”  There was a silence which McGee filled, “I guess it’s going fine. Um, I’ve checked into Tony Paddington …”

“And?” prompted Gibbs.

“He came up clean.  No criminal convictions.”

“Hmm.  What does he do?”

“He’s a hairdresser,” said McGee.

“Hairdresser?”

“Er yes.  You know someone who cuts …” McGee trailed off in sudden doubt about whether Gibbs grasped the concept of having one’s hair cut carefully.  The rumour in NCIS was that Gibbs simply took a razor to his head every week.

“I know what a hairdresser does!” snapped Gibbs.  “He’s not what I’d expect a hairdresser to look like.”

McGee remained silent as he digested this unexpected vision of Gibbs thinking about hairdressers.

“Anything else?” asked Gibbs.

“Well, it’s probably nothing,” said McGee.

“In the same way that it’s probably nothing that I hate those words?” asked Gibbs.

“Er, was that a rhetorical question, Boss?  Never mind, not important.  It’s just that the Tony Paddington ID is …”

“Is what?”

“It looks genuine,” said McGee but there’s not much depth to it.”

“Fake?”

“Don’t think so.  If it is, it’s a good one.”

“How good?”

“Either expensive or …”

“Or provided by police or FBI?”

“Could be, Boss.”

“Find out,” said Gibbs.  “And Agent Fornell may be getting a call from me.”  Gibbs frowned; he didn’t know if he was more irritated at the thought that another organization had put someone in undercover or at the thought that perhaps he didn’t need to be there after all.  He called Fornell’s number but got voice mail.  At that moment he saw Tony helping an elderly man to sit down in a chair near Biter and then come to the bar to get drinks.

“Hi, Mr Gibbs,” he said.

“Huh,” said Gibbs.

“I’m just getting some drinks,” he said.  “Do you want one?”

“I’m sitting here, _by the bar,_ ” said Gibbs.

“Oh, yes, I know.  But passengers on the tour get a discount – I didn’t know if you knew that.  Tell you what, I’ll just take these over to my two gentlemen and then I’ll come back.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.

He watched as Tony tended solicitously to the General and his companion and then as Tony returned to sit on a stool next to Gibbs.

“You want anything, Mr Gibbs?” he asked.

For answer Gibbs raised his coffee cup.

“Non-alcoholic beer,” Tony requested.  He saw Gibbs’ raised eyebrow, “On duty,” he explained.

“Hmm,” said Gibbs.  “What are you doing on the tour?” he asked.

“Schlepping,” said Tony.

“Yeah, I get that.  Why?”

Tony shrugged, “I’m between … jobs.  This came up.  And it means I don’t have to pay for my food for ten days.”

“You interested in the Civil War?”

Tony gave this more thought than Gibbs had expected.  “Not exactly.  But I know a lot about it,” He sensed Gibbs’ unasked question, “My Dad was … is an enthusiast.  Took me to lots of re-enactments.  You could say that I learned about it from the bottom up.”

“Sometimes the best way,” said Gibbs.

“I guess,” said Tony with a wince.

“What jobs are you between?”

“I’m a … hairdresser,” said Tony after a brief hesitation.

“Don’t you know?” pounced Gibbs.

“Sure, I know,” protested Tony, “I-I-I was trying to think whether it would be better to say hair stylist.”

“Hmm,” said Gibbs.

Tony seemed unnerved by the scrutiny.  He cast a quick look at the General and then said, “I need to check on the bus for tomorrow.  Make sure it’s clean.  I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Gibbs nodded as Tony left and he reached for his phone again.  He still couldn’t get hold of Agent Fornell so left a message.

NCISNCIS

Tony sat next to Gibbs once more on the bus to the Southern Museum of Civil War; while Gibbs would have preferred to sit alone he had realised that there was an advantage to having the seat occupied.  There were a couple of unattached women on the trip who claimed to be travelling in homage to the memory of their deceased husbands but Gibbs suspected that their real goal was him.  Tony acted as a welcome barrier.

Gibbs discreetly followed Biter around the museum and noticed that Tony was also keeping a low-key watch over him.  Gibbs was standing looking at a locomotive when his cell rang,

“Boss, McGee here.”

“What you got, McGee?”

“The Paddington ID?  I think it’s definitely one supplied by Police or Federal agency but I can’t narrow it down.  Have you heard from Agent Fornell?”

“No, left a message.  Any chatter?”

“About what, Boss.  You know, we do work hard when you’re out of the office.”

“About the threat to the General, McGee.  And you better had be working damn hard.”

“Oh yes, Boss.  Nothing specific.  Some angry messages on Twitter but nothing co-ordinated.  Say, if you could get Paddington’s fingerprints we could run them through the system.”

“How do you think I’m going to get his prints, McGee?”

“You know, give him a glass of water … that’s how we usually do it.”

“And how do I get them to you?”

“You could take a picture of them and then email it to me from your phone … no, you’re right, it was a bad idea.”

“Hmm, might not be.  You could get someone from the Mayport Office to pick them up.  I’ll let you know.”

Gibbs decided that, as the General seemed to have a captive audience of the other travellers, it was safe to relax his guard for a moment or two and go in search of Tony who had disappeared.  He found him standing beside the main entrance and talking anxiously into his phone.

“Mr Gibbs,” said Tony, hastily putting his phone away when he saw Gibbs watching him.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

“No, but I think Craig was looking for you,” said Gibbs, “Something about the toilet overflowing.”

“Great,” said Tony.

NCISNCIS

“Fornell.”

“About time, Tobias!  What the hell’s going on?”

“Nice to hear from you too, Jethro.  What bee is rattling around in that head of yours now?”

Gibbs glared at the cell and then at the passengers who had all been pulled off the bus.

“We’ve just been stopped by the Georgia State Patrol so they can look at our ID.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jethro,” said Fornell.

“ _Sorry?_   What’s going on?”

“Well, I’m about 600 miles away.  And though my eyesight is pretty good, I can’t see that far.”

“Fornell!  This isn’t funny.”

“I agree.  I came out of a budget meeting to answer this call.”

“The patrol says there’s be a prison escape.  They want to check our IDs and search the bus to make sure we haven’t got the prisoner on board,” said Gibbs.

“Sounds a responsible thing to do,” said Fornell, “Why tell me?”

“Because your undercover guy has arranged it.”

“My what?”

“Tony Paddington.  Or that’s the name he’s using.  You put him on board to watch over General Bittern.”

“I did?”

“Yes.  Or someone in the FBI did or some police department.  And I don’t figure it was a police department so that leaves you.”

“And why did my _undercover guy_ arrange for you to be stopped?”

“I don’t know.  Because he’s an idiot?”

“Who’s General Bittern?” asked Fornell.

“Retired Marine General.  May be the target of some lunatics.”

“A _Marine_ General?  We wouldn’t touch him, Jethro.  We’ve got enough to do within our own jurisdiction.  Maybe it’s Homeland or CIA.”

“ _CIA_?” said Gibbs with distaste.  And he ended the call.

NCISNCIS

The holiday group moved on to a new hotel that day and early the next morning Gibbs spotted Tony standing beneath the window of the General’s room with a sketch pad in hand.

“Morning,” he said.

“Mr Gibbs,” said Tony with a jump.  “You startled me!  You tread very quietly.”

“Yes,” said Gibbs with a feral look on his face, “I like to surprise people.”

“And you do,” said Tony.  “Can I do something for you?  Although I don’t actually start work for another half hour.”

“No, I’m good,” said Gibbs.  “What you doing?”

“Um, sketching.  This is an interesting building.”

“It is?” said Gibbs doubtfully as he gazed at the ultra-modern accommodation block.

“It may not be aesthetically pleasing,” conceded Tony, “But it’s not without merit.”

“I didn’t know hair stylists were interested in buildings,” said Gibbs.

“I-I like to think I’ve got a range of interests,” said Tony.

“So, tell me, _Tony_.  Is it men’s or women’s hair that you cut?”

“Oh, unisex,” said Tony.  “But I specialise in hair extensions.  Which I guess isn’t what you’d be interested in?”  He allowed his gaze to drift to Gibbs’ hair.

“No,” agreed Gibbs.  “But I suppose you know how to _cut_ hair as well?”

“Of course,” said Tony.

“Maybe you could cut mine,” said Gibbs.

“Er … I’d be glad to,” said Tony after an infinitesimal pause.

Gibbs braced himself.

“But I don’t have my scissors with me.”

“I have some clippers with me,” suggested Gibbs.

“No,” said Tony, “I wouldn’t dream of using someone else’s tools.  Ah, there’s the General.  I have a message for him.”  And he hurried away.  Gibbs followed from a distance making sure to keep him in sight.

NCISNCIS

“Boss, it’s McGee.”

“Report, McGee.”

“We got the tumbler with the fingerprints.  Mayport ran the prints.”

“And?  Spit it out, McGee.”

“They came back belonging to an Anthony DiNozzo.”

“And?”

“And, nothing, Boss.”

“What you mean, nothing?”

“He’s clean.  No criminal record.  And it looks as if he was out of the country for a while.  Came back three months ago.”

“Huh.  Keep digging.  Hey, is he a hairdresser?”

“Not that I can see.”

“OK, I think it’s about time I had a chat with Tony Paddington/DiNozzo.”

“And, Boss?”

“What?”

“Your ID got checked yesterday.”

“I know.  I was there.”

“No, Boss.  It got run through the system.  Someone was checking you are who you say you are.”

NCISNCIS

After breakfast Gibbs set off to find Tony.  He found him helping to lower the General’s new friend into a seat next to him.

“OK, Tony,” said the General, “You can leave Ernest and me.  We’re going to swap some more stories.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Tony.  “You OK with that?” he asked the other man.

“Sure,” he said a little vaguely, “Where is it we’re going again?”

“Chattanooga,” said Tony patiently.

“Chattanooga Choo Choo,” crooned Ernest.  “I used to love Glenn Miller, but Artie Shaw was my favourite.”

 

“Mr Gibbs!” said Tony, “I was looking for you.”

“That’s a coincidence,” said Gibbs grimly, “I was looking for you.”  He grabbed Tony by the arm and marched him away.  He waited until they were out of sight and flung him against the wall, “Now, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing on this trip, _Tony?_ ”

Tony gasped, “Like I said, I’m schlepping.”

“You want to try that again?”

“No, not really.  I mean, it’s saved me some money on food and the people have been friendly but I don’t think I want to do it again.”

“You want to explain why you’re calling yourself Paddington?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, Mr Gibbs.”

“it is my business if you’re intending to attack General Bittern,” said Gibbs.

“If I’m what?”

“You heard me.  You’ll excuse me if I get suspicious when someone is working under an assumed name close to someone who’s been the subject of death threats.”

“You think I want to hurt the General?” said Tony.

“The thought crossed my mind,” said Gibbs sternly.

Tony crossed his arms and looked cross, “And you know, I was beginning to like you.  I’ll admit I was suspicious at first when you started pumping me for information.”

“What?”

“Oh come on, you wouldn’t talk to anyone else but me, you were asking me all sorts of questions.  I admit I wondered if you were making a move on me but I didn’t get that vibe from you.  And I’m usually good at picking up things like that.  And then you did that thing to get me a glass of water … that creeped me out a bit but then I found out who you were and it made more sense.”

“What?”

Tony looked a little guilty.  “That search of the bus yesterday?  It was kind of my fault.”

“I guessed that,” said Gibbs.  “But I didn’t know why.  Seemed crazy to draw attention to yourself like that.”

“I didn’t mean to draw attention to myself, _Agent_ Gibbs.”

“Then what was it for?”

“You didn’t seem like the rest of the passengers.  I mean, I could see that you were interested in the history but it was a real effort for you to engage with the others.  And you could have done it under your own steam, you weren’t like the others who needed help to get around.  So I was spooked and I contacted Baltimore PD and they arranged the check.”

“Baltimore PD?  You work for them?” asked Gibbs.

Tony shuddered, “No.  Oh, well, I guess I do in a way. But not for long.”

“Explain,” ordered Gibbs.

“I’m in witness protection,” said Tony, “Temporarily.  Case goes to trial next week but I was going stir crazy in the safe house and I wanted to get out.  Baltimore PD were being over cautious about the whole thing anyway.  So I suggested I come on this tour and they gave me the new name – which is nearly mine anyway because my Mom’s name was Paddington.  So when you started asking questions about me, well, I wondered if Baltimore PD had been right to think someone was after me and that’s when I contacted them.”

“What’s the case?”

“Property fraud,” said Tony.

“How did you get involved?”

“I’m an architect.  Designed a big office block in Baltimore and realised that there was a lot of bribery going on to get around planning permissions.  I went to the police and they investigated.  Took a long time to come to court but I was in England for a year working so I was out of the way.  Came back for the trial but then it was delayed and they put me in the safe house.  But believe me, Agent Gibbs, there’s only so many sketches I could make of a suburban three-bedroom house.”

“And why this trip?  Seems odd.”

Tony looked embarrassed.  “Friend of mine lives in Ernest’s block.  I met Ernie a few times before I went to England.  His wife died not so long ago and my friend said he wasn’t coping well.  He and Dorothy, his wife, had arranged to go on this trip before she died, and he decided to carry on with it.  My friend’s a travel agent and he’d fixed it up for the Yosts but he had the idea that someone should go with Ernie to keep an eye on him.  He got me on the trip.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Ernie’s a sweet man,” said Tony, “He and I had some good talks before.  He doesn’t really remember me; he lives pretty much in the past now.  I had the time, it seemed a good thing to do.  Although if I’d known that the General was going to take such a shine to him I might not have bothered.  Ernie’s pretty much been his shadow the whole trip.”

“So, you’re telling me that you were bored waiting to give evidence in a trial so decided to come and empty toilets as a favour to an old man you barely know?” asked Gibbs.

“To be fair, I didn’t know about the toilet emptying,” said Tony, “But yes, pretty much.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes, why not?”

Gibbs stared and seemed to find what he was looking for, “Good answer,” he said.

“That’s it?” said Tony.

“Sure,” said Gibbs.

“Oh,” said Tony.  “Cool.”

“You know,” said Gibbs, “You showed some good skills there.  Ever think of becoming a cop?”

“No, thank you,” said Tony, “I’ll stick to building things.  But …”

“But what?”

“You said someone’s after the General?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you might want to look into Craig.”

“Craig?”

“He’s been muttering some pretty uncomplimentary things about the General.  And I don’t think he’s a real Civil War enthusiast.  Believe me, I’ve met some in the past and I know the difference.”

NCISNCIS

“Good work, Agent Gibbs,” said Director Vance, “How did you latch on to Craig Jones as being about to attack the General?”

“Oh, you know, Leon, you get a feel for these things.”

“Huh,” said the Director.

“And I had some help,” admitted Gibbs.

“I’ve approved the leave request,” said the Director, “Never known you voluntarily take leave before.  Any plans?”

“I met an architect,” said Gibbs, “He’s drawn me some plans for an extension to my basement.  I need to get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was fun to have Ernie Yost from ‘Call of Silence’ in a story.


	18. Chapter 18

Agent Gibbs paced the aisles of his local supermarket and tossed bread, milk, steak and frozen ready meals into his basket.  As he paused for a moment in front of a shelf full of baked beans and looked for his favoured brand he became aware of someone standing close to him and gazing intently at what he had bought.

“Yes?” said Gibbs curtly.  He glared at the person who was invading his personal space: he wore a baseball cap and big sunglasses and appeared to be in his early thirties.

“Oh,” came the reply, “Nothing.  Sorry,” and with one last look at the ready meals and the baked beans he hastily backed off.

Gibbs felt a moment or two of satisfaction.  He had had a frustrating day at work filled with meetings and presentations about the _future direction of the Agency_ and had left the Navy Yard tingling with pent up energy.  Seeing off a nosy shopper dissipated that feeling a little.

Still having energy to burn, Gibbs went for a run after he got home.  The steady pace and slight burn in his muscles began to soothe him but then he realised that he wasn’t running alone.  His sharp hearing caught the sound of feet pounding behind him.  Gibbs stopped and pretended to retie his shoelace and the pounding feet stopped too.  Gibbs glanced behind him and saw a young man in baseball cap and sunglasses jogging on the spot.  When he noticed Gibbs watching him, he casually turned around and then sprinted away.  Gibbs watched him go and noted that he had a good turn of speed and could certainly have overtaken Gibbs if he had wanted to.

Gibbs jogged slowly back to his house wondering why someone seemed to be stalking him and then stopping in shock when he got home and saw his new _companion_ standing on the sidewalk taking pictures of his house.

“Hey!” he shouted, ran up to the photographer and grabbed his arm.  “What the hell are you doing following me around?  And taking pictures of my house?”  He shook the guy’s arm for emphasis.

“Technically it’s not an offence.  I’m on the sidewalk, I’m not on your land.  And the park is public space.  And I’m allowed to go into the supermarket!”

“You want to try that again?” demanded Gibbs still keeping a firm hold.

“OK, I’m doing research on you.”

“What?”

“Let me give you my card.  Um, if you’ll let go of my arm so I can get to it.”

“Where is it?” said Gibbs.  “I’ll get it.”

“Inside left pocket.  But you don’t need to worry, I’m not going to run away.”

Gibbs reached into the pocket, “You’ll forgive me for not believing you.  So far, all you’ve done is run away.”

“To be fair, I didn’t _run_ away in the supermarket.  And you haven’t given me a chance to run away this time.”  He looked at Gibbs’ face and saw that reasoning with Gibbs wasn’t the wisest approach at that moment, “But I take your point,” he finished meekly.

Gibbs squinted at the card he had extracted, “Anthony DiNozzo.  Actor, writer and director.”

“My friends call me Tony,” said Tony.  He took another look at Gibbs, “But I guess you’ll want to call me Anthony.”

“What I want,” said Gibbs, “Is to call the police.”

“There’s no need to do that, Agent Gibbs,” said Tony.  “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“How do you know who I am?” asked Gibbs.  “And where I live?”

“It wasn’t difficult to find out, Agent Gibbs.  I’ve already done some research.  Hey, would you mind letting go of my arm?  This is a new jacket and I think you’re stretching the fabric.  But, of course, not if you feel uncomfortable with that.  I’m in your hands, literally.”  He smiled.

Gibbs became aware that his neighbours were watching with interest and he decided to continue his interrogation inside.

“Move,” he ordered.

“Inside?” asked Tony.

“Yes.”

“You mean it?  Oh, that’s great.  Thank you.”

_Thank you_?  Gibbs’ interrogees rarely said thank you but the smile on Tony’s face was wide and seemed genuine; it didn’t fade when he went through the door.

“You don’t lock your door?  Wow.  Would you mind letting me go now?  I really do need to be making notes.”

“Sit down,” said Gibbs pointing to the couch.

Tony obediently walked towards the couch with eyes darting in all directions as he tried to take in all the details.  He looked towards the fireplace, “Is that where you cook your steaks?  You know, I didn’t think that could be right.  I didn’t think people would believe it but it’s true.”

“Talk,” ordered Gibbs.

Tony looked surprised, “But I have been.  And, if you don’t mind my saying so, Agent Gibbs, you haven’t said much at all.  Although, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised but,” he added cryptically, “The muteness will be a challenge.”

Gibbs stared at the odd creature who had taken up his cheerful position on the couch.  “What’s this all about?” he asked.  He was beginning to wonder if Tony had escaped from somewhere; that perhaps a concerned carer was even now anxiously searching for a deranged patient.

“Well,” said Tony politely, “I just want to thank you.”

“Eh?”

“For agreeing.”

“To what?” asked Gibbs uneasily.

Tony looked momentarily sad, “It was disappointing that so many people refused to be part of this great venture.  But, to be fair, I can understand James Palmer’s reluctance although I offered to make amendments.  I couldn’t convince him, however, that people wouldn’t believe he’s a necrophiliac.  But I had thought that Dr Mallard and Miss Scuito would take a more open-minded approach – still, the scientific mind is not always easy to understand.”  He smiled winningly and Gibbs found that there was something he could agree with after all.

“So,” continued Tony, “It was wonderful that you agreed.  You are, after all, the linchpin of the whole enterprise.”

“What have I agreed to?” asked Gibbs.

“To allow yourself to be represented in the movie.  LJ Tibbs – the Movie.”  Tony made an expressive gesture with his hands to suggest the billboard over a cinema.

“What?  I never agreed to that,” said Gibbs hotly.

A somewhat steely look dawned in Tony’s hitherto smiling eyes, “Oh but you did, Agent Gibbs.”

“I most certainly did not,” said Gibbs.

“I sent you many emails on the subject.  And two weeks ago I said that I did not hear within ten days the need to ask your permission would lapse and I could go ahead.”

“You _emailed_ me?” asked an incredulous Gibbs.  He thought of his untended inbox.  Then he thought that Tony’s research had not been very thorough if he thought Gibbs could be contacted by email.  And then he had the darker thought that Tony had known very well that, for his purposes, email was the _best_ way to contact him.  “And you contacted the others?  And they turned you down?”

“Flat,” said Tony mournfully.  “Of course, Agent McGee’s refusal was expected.  Once his screenplay for the movie was turned down … well, he wouldn’t want to be involved.”

“I see,” said Gibbs.

“But,” said Tony, returning to cheerfulness, “Having _your_ co-operation is the most important thing.  After all, you can’t have _LJ Tibbs – the Movie_ without LJ Tibbs.”  And he smiled, again.

“I suppose not,” said Gibbs.  Part of him wanted to kick Tony out of his house, another part wanted to call the police and another part was fascinated by Tony and unable to move off the couch.  He decided that he could call a lawyer later but first he wanted to hear more about what Tony wanted.

“Coffee?” he asked.

Tony’s face lit up as if he had just had all his Christmases and birthdays rolled into one.

“Thank you!  Do you have decaf?  Half and half?”  Gibbs looked at him.  “Black’s fine.”

By the time Gibbs returned with two mugs of coffee, Tony had a notebook out and was talking quietly into a recorder.  The coffee soothed Gibbs and made Tony splutter although it didn’t stop him from making another note.

“Go on then,” said Gibbs.  “What do you want?”

“Well,” said Tony, “There was a problem when so many of your co-workers refused to co-operate.  _The Continuing Adventures of LJ Tibbs_ isn’t just about you.  Although, of course, you are the main character.”

“Thom E Gemcity always insisted that the characters in his book were pure fiction,” said Gibbs.

Tony laughed and ignored this statement.  “So, we had to think of a new way to approach the story.”

“We?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes.  I will play LJ Tibbs in the movie.”

“You will?” said Gibbs sceptically.

“Yes, I know,” said Tony, “You’re doubtful because I’m so much better looking than you, not to say younger and fitter but I’m a good actor.  We’ll get over that.  And a good makeup artist can add decades to me …”

“Decades?” asked Gibbs crossly.

“Yes, don’t worry about it,” said Tony.  “And then with prosthetics … don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

“You’re a good actor?” asked Gibbs.  “What have you been in?”

Tony looked a little offended, “I’ve been in a lot of independent movies.  I was in a Sci-Fi series that ran a couple of years.  And I’ve done soap operas.”

“Go on,” said Gibbs.

“Anyway, you’ve spotted a difficulty.”

“I have?”

“Yes, having an actor so much younger than you play you.  But we’ve got a way around that.”

“We have?”

“Yes, we have.  We thought we could have flashbacks.  That will solve the problem of having to ditch so much of the original story.  We can investigate why you are the cantankerous short tempered bas- man that you are today.”

Gibbs glared at him.  Tony might be a good actor (although Gibbs had his doubts) but he didn’t seem to be good at picking up the finer shades of Gibbs’ emotions.

“So, Agent Gibbs, let me get some background.  I want to get into the essence of your character.  What makes you tick?  And, you know, I think _tick_ might be a useful metaphor for the movie.  It suggests an old fashioned approach … a disdain for modern technology and modern methods which fits with your character.”

Gibbs continued to glare.  He was now convinced that Tony had been fully aware that he would never answer emails.

“But,” said Tony, “There must be a softer, more forgiving side to you …”

“Must there?” said Gibbs with continued scepticism.

“But, of course.  I consider myself to be easy-going and forgiving …” he smiled to show the truth of this, “But I’m not sure that I would have forgiven Agent McGee for writing that _you drink to relieve the burden of your Messiah complex._   Tell me, how did that feel?”  He met with silence.  “Put a pin in that, we’ll come back to that.”

Tony took another sip of his coffee and shuddered once more.  “Let’s think about simpler things.  Coffee, for example.  Do you drink it bitter because it reflects the bitter, tortured nature of your inner being?  Or is it that you can’t bear the thought of sleeping because of the nightmares that lurk in waiting.  Is that it, Agent Gibbs?  Do you suffer from nightmares?”

“I think I’m having one now,” said Gibbs.

“I can use that,” said Tony, “A touch of sardonic humour.  It can be like the clouds parting across the moon to reveal a shaft of light on a dark night.  Is that how your team feel about your occasional light hearted remarks?”

“They haven’t said so,” said Gibbs drily.

Tony made another note.  “And the steaks cooked in the fireplace?  You know, I didn’t believe that could be possible.  Why do you do that?  Is it a protest against the trammels of society?  A longing to lead a simpler life?  Is …”

“I like them that way,” said Gibbs, “And my oven broke one day.”

“Oh,” said Tony.  “But that’s good too.  It shows resilience, enterprise … a refusal to be beaten.  That can be at the heart of your psyche too.”

“With the nightmares and sardonic humour?” asked Gibbs.

“You see,” said Tony, “You’re getting into the swing of this.”

“And _you’re_ writing this movie?” asked Gibbs.

“And directing it,” said Tony proudly.

“Isn’t that unusual?” said Gibbs.

“Well,” said Tony with obvious reluctance, “To start with I was just going to be the star.  But when the producers ran into the problems with your co-workers … it became more difficult to get the finance in place.”

“And …?”

“But I really believed in the project.  It has great potential.  A renegade …”

“Renegade?” said Gibbs disapprovingly.

“Maverick,” corrected Tony, “Maverick is better.  A maverick agent with a dark past over which he broods.  But with a heart of gold …”

“Heart of gold?”

“Very well hidden,” Tony assured him.  “Almost completely hidden.  A maverick agent with a dark past which haunts him and drives him to fight for justice whatever the cost.”

“You’re going to kill me off?” asked Gibbs anxious of the implications of _whatever the cost._

“Oh no,” said Tony, “We can’t do that.  We want this to be a franchise.  _LJ Tibbs Returns_ , _LJ Tibbs, Broken but Unbowed, LJ Tibbs Undaunted Hero, LJ Tibbs …”_

“I get the idea,” said Gibbs.

“But,” said Tony, “It might turn out to be TV Movie.  And it might get relocated.”

“Relocated?  Where?”

“Not where.  When.  There’s talk of making it a Western or perhaps Science Fiction.  I can totally picture you as an Apocalyptic Hero.”

“You can?”

“Sure.  Apocalyptic Heroes nearly always have tragic pasts.”

“But do they drink coffee and cook steaks on an open fire?” asked Gibbs gravely.

“An excellent point,” said Tony.  “And it would be a shame to lose those aspects of your character,” he mused for a moment.  “I know!  We can do flashbacks to the present.  Perhaps he can have been frozen in time like Buck Rogers.  Or have memories of his great great-grandfather?  This is so great.  I’m so glad we’ve had this conversation.  You know …” Tony paused and nodded determinedly, “I’m going to see if I can get you a credit on the movie.  As an artistic consultant.  How does that sound?”

Gibbs thought he might be going to throw up.

“I know,” said Tony sympathetically, “It’s a lot to take in.  The emotions get to me too.”  He sighed contentedly.  “Now, one last thing.  May I touch your hair?”

“What?”

“Your silver hair is integral to the whole movie.  It’s part of your …”

“Essence?” suggested Gibbs.

“Essence!  Exactly.  You know, you and I are so in tune that it’s spooky.  Anyway, I get into a character when I can take the hair into myself.  For some people it’s glasses, for some it’s the walk but for me it’s the hair.  Can I touch yours?”

And without waiting for an answer he suddenly reached for Gibbs.  Gibbs retaliated in the only way possible and delivered a head slap.

“Ouch!”  Gibbs’ hand collided with the bottom of his boat and he woke up with a shock.  He gasped as he tried to unscramble his thoughts and then sighed with relief as he realised the visit of Tony DiNozzo had indeed been a nightmare.  One of the presentations about the _future direction of the Agency_ had included information about a new promotional video to be fronted by up and coming (and inexpensive) actor Anthony DiNozzo.  Gibbs had obviously absorbed more information than he’d thought.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs was a little later to work than normal after his disturbed night but he was still there early.  Tim McGee was startled to see Gibbs frown at him: he wasn’t to know that the dream DiNozzo had re-ignited irritation in Gibbs about how he had been portrayed in the Deep Six novels.  There wasn’t time for brooding as Director Vance soon arrived with a guest,

“Agent Gibbs, I’d like to introduce you to Anthony DiNozzo.”

Tony held out his hand with a friendly smile.

“Good to meet you, Agent Gibbs.  Director Vance says you’ll be able to help me with getting the _tone_ of the video right.  I look forward to working with you.”

Gibbs stared at Tony in something like horror.

“Going for coffee!”


	19. Chapter 19

“You’ll find Mr Gibbs sitting outside on the terrace.  It’s pleasant there at this time of day.  I’ll bring you out some drinks later.”

Tony nodded his thanks to the assistant and went out to find Gibbs.

The Washington Retirement Community for Veterans was set in expansive grounds and the central, communal building was placed on the edge of a lake.  It was no wonder, Tony thought, that the elderly residents liked to sit on the terrace and gaze at the tranquil water.  He paused for a moment or two to drink in the view for himself and then spotted an elderly man sitting alone at the far end of the terrace.

That elderly man saw Tony approaching him and laid down his copy of Woodworking Weekly.

“Do I know you?” he asked when Tony was near enough.

“No,” said Tony, “You don’t.  I’m Tony DiNozzo.”

“Huh.  I’m Gibbs.  Jethro Gibbs.”

“You live here?” asked Tony.

“No, I just sneak in and borrow the view and drink their coffee,” said Gibbs sarcastically, “Of course I live here!  I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“It seems a nice place,” offered Tony.

“You would say that,” said Gibbs.

“Well …” began Tony.

“What are you doing here?” asked Gibbs.  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No.  I live in Providence.  Just visiting.”

“Why pick on me?” asked Gibbs suspiciously.

“I used to be a federal agent,” said Tony.  “One of the other residents told me you used to be one too.  I thought we could swap stories.”

“You mean, _chat_?”

“If you want.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I like to talk about my days as an agent.  Unless you’ve done the job, you don’t understand what it was like.  You understand what I mean?”

“Guess so,” said Gibbs.

“There was something about working as a team.  There was a buzz about it.  And then the satisfaction of closing a case.”

“And not closing a case,” said Gibbs bitterly.

“Yes,” agreed Tony, “We didn’t always get it right, did we?”

“My team had a good close rate,” said Gibbs.  “One of the best.  We didn’t have many losses.”

“I’m sure you did good work, Mr Gibbs.”

“Just Gibbs.  Makes me feel old when people call me Mr Gibbs.”

“Gibbs,” said Tony.  “Were you in a big team?”

“I was team lead,” said Gibbs proudly.  “For a long time.  Sometimes it was just a two-man team, other times it went up to six or seven.”

“I have a feeling people stayed on your team for a good long time, Gibbs.”

“Some.  Not all.  And there were losses.”

“Yeah.  I know what that’s like,” said Tony sadly.  “Putting the black band on the badges when another agent passed.”

“You keep in touch with your co-workers?” asked Gibbs.

“I try to,” said Tony, “But you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah.  Were you ever a team lead?”

“I had a few spells, but it was mostly just temporary.  You know, while the Boss was away.”

“You called your team lead _Boss_?”

“Yeah.  Seemed appropriate.  Actually, _appropriate_ ’s not the right word.  It was the _only_ word that fitted.”

Gibbs chuckled.  “I know what you mean.  My team called me _Boss._   They thought it came to me easily, you know.”

“What came easily?”

“Leading.  But it didn’t.  I mean, I had to make it look easy but I worried about it.”

“You did?”

“Sure.  Not the solving of cases.  That came easily enough.  And I had a good team.  One of the best.”

“Yeah?” prompted Tony.

“Had a real techno whizz.  Could do anything with computers.  Me, I could hardly switch one on but he could do anything.  And some women: all different and all good.  There was a Secret Service agent I snapped up.  God, she was feisty.”

“Sounds interesting,” said Tony.

“She was one of the losses,” said Gibbs.  “Caitlyn Todd.  I always wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t recruited her.  Would she have been killed?”

“You can’t second guess yourself,” said Tony, “You do what you do.”

“Guess so.  Doesn’t stop you waking up in the middle of night with it all running through your head.”

“And your team never knew?”

“Nope.  Guess I was old-fashioned, old-school.  The leader leads.”

“Sounds like my old Boss,” said Tony thoughtfully.  “Who else was on your team?”

Gibbs laughed, “An Israeli.  Ex-Mossad.”

“Mossad?”

“Against my wishes,” said Gibbs.  “But it worked out.”

“And was she feisty too?”

“And some,” said Gibbs.  “Good times … and bad.  But at least she didn’t die … or not while she was on the team.”  He shook his head, “Not sure what happened.  Some things I forget.”

“Anyone else?” asked Tony.

“Got someone from Homeland Security,” said Gibbs.

“Did you get anyone from inside your agency?” asked Tony, “’Cos it sounds as if you poached all your people.”

Gibbs thought, “The computer guy, I got him from inside.  And some others.  And they all fit in – eventually.”

“Sounds as if the good memories outweigh the bad,” suggested Tony tentatively.

“But there’s something else,” said Gibbs.

“OK,” said Tony.

“I don’t think it’s just remembering Kate that wakes me up in the night.  There’s something missing.  Something I feel I didn’t do.”  Gibbs clenched and unclenched his fists.

“What?” asked Tony.  “Would it help to talk about it?”

For a few moments, Tony didn’t think he’d get a reply.  Gibbs stared out over the lake apparently lost in thought.  The promised coffee arrived without him noticing but then he turned to look at Tony, “There was someone else, I’m sure but I can’t picture him.  I feel that he was with me the longest.  That there was something about him that was special.  Why can’t I remember him?”

“I don’t know,” said Tony.

“I think we fitted together,” said Gibbs, “That he knew what I was thinking, what I wanted him to do.  And I wonder if that’s why I can’t picture him because it got so that I was so used to him being around that I didn’t see him anymore.”

“Could be,” said Tony.

“I sense that he was good but I worry that I never told him.  Is that why I can’t remember because I never told him that he was good?”

“And it worries you now?” said Tony.

“Sometimes,” said Gibbs, “Sometimes I feel like I left something undone.  That perhaps I hurt him.”

“You said he was good?” said Tony.  Gibbs nodded.  “And he knew what you were thinking?”  Gibbs nodded again.  “Then he probably knew that you thought highly of him.”

“You think?” said Gibbs.

Tony coughed, “My Boss – the one I was telling you about – he wasn’t good at praise.  He took the view that if he wasn’t bawling you out that meant you were doing a good job.”

“Sounds familiar,” said Gibbs with a grin.

“His team was a good team.  Just being on it meant you were good.  My Boss was always in a rush, didn’t have time for handholding or backslapping.  And I understood that.”

“And you didn’t mind?” asked Gibbs hopefully.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t go that far.  But I got used to it, I adjusted.  Sometimes I complained if he was _nice_ to me.  It wasn’t how I’d lead a team but it worked for him.”

“So you think it was all right?  The way I was with him?”

“I never thought that he was carrying a burden,” said Tony wrapped in his own thoughts, “He always seemed so sure, so confident, so certain … I never thought he might be lying awake at night worrying about us.”

“I’m sure he was,” said Gibbs.

“And now I wonder if there was something I should have been doing – to lighten the burden.  Maybe I wasn’t looking close enough,” said Tony.

“If your old Boss was like I was … well, he wouldn’t have wanted you to see if he was struggling.  He wouldn’t have accepted your help.”

“I guess.  But perhaps I should have offered it,” said Tony.

Gibbs laughed, “We’re a good pair, aren’t we?  Regretting what we did when we can’t change it now.”

“Yeah,” said Tony.  “We did what we thought was right.”

Gibbs nodded, “Yes, we did, didn’t we?  Well, thank you.”

“For what?”

“You were right, talking with someone who’s been there …”

“And got the tee-shirt?”

“Yes.  It makes a difference.  It’s helped.  And like you say, the guy probably knew what I felt about him.  And your old Boss probably knew that you cared so don’t worry about that.  I can’t catch hold of much about my _missing_ guy but I get the feeling that I knew he cared.”

“I’m glad I helped,” said Tony.  He stood to go, “it was good to meet you, Gibbs.”

“And you,” said Gibbs.  “Will you be down this way again?”

“Possibly,” said Tony, “I keep busy in Rhode Island but, who knows?”

Gibbs nodded, “Thanks again, Tony.”

Tony and Gibbs shook hands and Tony left Gibbs sitting on the terrace.  When Tony looked back he saw that Gibbs had picked up his magazine again.

Tony was walking towards the carpark when someone called his name,

“Tony!”

“McGoo!”  McGee winced at the nickname and the grin on Tony’s face but it didn’t stop him from giving him a quick hug.

“You came!” said McGee.

“Still stating the obvious, eh?” said Tony.

“I meant to get it here earlier,” said Tim.  “I thought it might help.”

“Think it went better for me being there alone,” said Tony.

“Did Gibbs recognise you?”

“No, you were right.  For some reason there’s a big DiNozzo size hole in his memory.”

“How did it go?”

“We talked.  And I think we helped each other.”

“Each other?  How so?” asked Tim.

“I never realised that he wasn’t as confident as he appeared all those years ago,” said Tony.  “And I told him that the person he can’t remember probably always knew how Gibbs felt about him.  And I think that helped him.”

“Good,” said Tim and then with sudden insight added, “And did you?  I mean, did you always know that Gibbs valued you?”

Tony shrugged, “Most of the time.  And deep down, _all_ of the time.  And it was a long time ago, Tim.  A long time ago.  He seems OK – good, in fact.”

“Yes, he is.  Frailer than he was.  And for most things his memory is good but it just has holes in.  All those times he was blown up took their toll.  He knows that something’s missing and it worries him.”

“You’re good to him,” said Tony, “Keeping an eye out for him.  Thinking about getting touch with me.”

“Wasn’t sure you’d come,” admitted Tim.  “Like you said, it’s been a long time and we didn’t keep in touch.”

“I could never forget my Probie,” said Tony lightly, “Or the Boss.  And you’d do the same for me.”

“I guess,” said Tim, “And it was a great idea to come in disguise.”

“Excuse me?”

“You always did think outside the box.  Dressing like that probably put the Boss at ease; made him more likely to open up.”

“What you talking about, McMystery?”

Tim grinned, “You know,” he pointed to Tony’s neck, “Wearing that clerical collar.  If Gibbs thought you were a padre he’d trust you.  Although, if he’d recognised you it might have been awkward.  You would’ve had to come with a story quick.”

“I’m not in disguise, Tim,” said Tony.  “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“I was ordained four years ago.  I’m Rector at St Sebastian’s Episcopal Church in Providence, Rhode Island.”

“You’re a priest?” gasped McGee.

“Sure.  Why not?”

“Um …” said Tim unable to think where to begin.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Special Agent Jethro Gibbs scowled as he walked into the refurbished garage at NCIS Headquarters.  He strode over to the window which had once opened into the office where Wilmington used to sit and give directions about which car was available – now the window had been replaced by a computer screen and a large green switch.  Gibbs pressed the switch (although _press_ is too gentle a word for what he did).

“Welcome to NCIS motor pool,” came a tinny voice.  “Please state your requirements.”

“I need a car,” said Gibbs.

“Let me check your requirements … so, you need a car?”

“Yes,” said Gibbs through gritted teeth.

“When do you require the car?”

“Now.”

“Let me check your requirements … so you need a car – now?”

“Yes.”

“For how long do you require the car?”

“Don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, that answer is not acceptable.  Do you require the car for a) one hour, b) three hours, c) ten hours, d) twenty-four hours?  Please state the option that most closely matches your need.  If you need to hear the options again, please say E.”

Gibbs held on to his temper.  “D.”

“Let me check your requirements … so you need a car now for twenty-four hours?”

“Yes.”

“Please wait while I check availability.”  There was a whirring sound and then the tinny voice said, “We have a vehicle available now.”

“OK,” said Gibbs, “Tell me where to collect it …”

The tinny voice spoke over Gibbs, “Please state your name for our records.”

“Gibbs.”

“Thank you.  Let me check, so your name is Gibbs?”

“Yes.”

“We do not have that name in our records.  Please repeat.”

“Gibbs.”

The whirring sound came again, “I’m sorry, we do not seem to have that name on record.  Please state your full name.”

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  I thought the new computer system was doing everything by voice recognition.”

“I’m sorry, we do not seem to have anyone with the name _Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  I thought the new computer system was doing everything by voice recognition_.  Please say your full name.  You are allowed three attempts to enter your personal details: your account will be blocked after three failures.  Please say your name after the beep.”

Gibbs clenched his fists, “Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, let me check.  So, your name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs?”

“Yes.”

“Please state your job title.”

“NCIS Special Agent.”

“Thank you, let me check.  So, your job title is NCIS Special Agent?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.  So, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, you require a car now for twenty-four hours?  Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Please proceed to bay 6 where your vehicle is waiting.”

“Where …” began Gibbs.

“The code for accessing the vehicle is 76DG9/280717.  If you require a print out of this code, please indicate now.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, let me check.  So, you require a print out?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, please wait.  The code is being printed now.  Please note that the code is valid for ten minutes.  If you do not access your vehicle within that time the access code will be frozen and you will need to restart the process.”

Gibbs snatched the print out and strode towards bay 6.  He squinted at the piece of paper and entered the code on the keypad on the door handle.  The door opened smoothly and he sat in the driver’s seat.

“Please confirm your identity,” came the tinny voice.

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” said Gibbs in a slightly strangled voice.

“I’m sorry.  We were unable to register that voice.  Please repeat.”

Gibbs forced himself to be calm.  He remembered from the training day that the computer sometimes struggled to understand words spoken in anything less than a calm and measured tone.  “Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”

“Thank you, let me check.  So, you will be using this vehicle for twenty-four hours?”

“Yes.”  Gibbs wondered what would happen if he brought it back before that but, the way things were going, he wasn’t sure he’d be out of the garage within a day.

“Thank you.  Do you require the option to drive the car yourself – known as self-drive or do you wish the car to drive itself – known as the automatic option?”

Gibbs thumped the steering wheel in frustration, “Self-drive!”

“Thank you.  You have selected the self-drive option.  Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you have also selected the voice accompaniment.  Is that correct?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognise that response.  You have selected the voice accompaniment.  Is that correct?”

“No.”

“You have not selected the voice accompaniment?  Is that correct?”

“No.  I mean, yes.  I mean I don’t want the voice accompaniment.  Whatever that is.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognise that response.  You have selected the voice accompaniment.  Is that correct?  Failure to give a recognised response will lead to your access to the vehicle being frozen and you will need to restart the process.”

“Yes,” said Gibbs giving up.

“Thank you.  Let me check.  You have selected the self-drive option with the voice accompaniment.  Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Please wait while your voice accompaniment is activated.”

Gibbs tapped his fingers on the steering wheel – lightly as the previous thump seemed to have resulted in something sinister.  There was another whirring noise, then a crackle before another tinny voice came through the speakers.

“Good morning.  I am your Tony.”

“My what?”

“I am your Tony.”  There was another crackling noise, “Travel Overseer for Navy Yard.  The Tony is designed to enhance your travel experience, keep you safe and answer any questions you may have.”

“How will you keep me safe?” asked Gibbs.  “You gonna shoot the bad guys?”

“Your Tony will keep you safe by reminding you of the relevant speed limit, the requirement to wear your seat belt at all times and to use the hands-free equipment if you need to use your cell phone.  The Tony will also keep you informed of traffic conditions and will calculate the most efficient route for you.  The Tony will also monitor your fuel levels and alert you of any adverse weather conditions.”

“I have a question,” said Gibbs.

“Please state your question.”

“How do I switch you off?”

There was a crackle.  “Once voice accompaniment has been selected, it is not possible to deselect until the journey has been completed.”

“Can I at least turn you down?”

Crackle.  “The Tony volume is pre-set using NCIS medical records showing your level of hearing.  The volume is set to be the optimum for the driver taking into account traffic conditions and other noise sources.”

“What happens if I have a passenger?”

Crackle.  “That question is not yet in the Tony databank.  Your question will be noted and referred for consideration.”

“How do I turn the radio on?”  The subtext was obvious – _and drown you out_.

“Once the voice accompaniment has been selected it is not possible to use the radio function.  The radio is not compatible with the Tony.”

Gibbs switched the engine on and began his journey.

“The speed limit within the garage is 5mph.  The speed limit within the garage is 5mph. The speed limit within the garage is 5mph.”

Gibbs began singing to drown out the Tony.

“Please restate your question.  Please restate your question.  Please restate your question.  That question is not yet in the Tony databank.  Your question will be noted and referred for consideration. The speed limit within the garage is 5mph …”

This impasse continued until Gibbs exited the garage.  The Tony calmed down but continued to be helpful.

“The speed limit on this stretch of road is 30mph.  NCIS regulations state that, unless there is an emergency, agents should adhere to speed limits at all times.”

“I know,” said Gibbs.

“Is there an emergency, Agent Gibbs?  You are travelling above the speed limit for this part of your journey.”

“No,” said Gibbs, “There’s no emergency.  I’m in a hurry.  I was delayed in starting out.”

“Acknowledged.  Do you wish the Tony to calculate your route?”

“Can you do that and talk at the same time?”

“That question is not yet in the Tony databank.  Your question will be noted and referred for consideration.”

“Let’s find out,” said Gibbs.  “Calculate the route to Quantico.”

“Calculate the route to Quantico?  Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Please state which type of route you wish the Tony to calculate.  a) the quickest route.  b) the shortest route.  c) the route with the least traffic.  d) the most scenic route.  If you wish to hear these options again, please say E.

“The most _scenic_ route?” asked Gibbs quizzically, wondering why anyone thought an NCIS agent would need a scenic route.

“Thank you.  Let me check.  You wish the Tony to calculate the scenic route to Quantico?”

“No,” said Gibbs, “I meant … oh, what the hell, yes.”

“I’m sorry.  Your response has not been recognised.  Please state your required option again.”

“D – scenic route,” said Gibbs.

“Thank you.  Let me check.  You wish the Tony to calculate the scenic route to Quantico?”

“Yes.”

“Calculating route.”

Gibbs held his breath and then smiled as he realised that the Tony couldn’t speak and calculate a route at the same time.  The crackle was a little annoying but preferable to chatter.

“Route is calculated.  Take a right in one hundred yards.”  Gibbs ignored the instruction.  “Calculating route.”  Crackle and whirring.  “Take a right in two hundred yards.”

Gibbs realised that he did want to take that turning so obeyed although he was a little disturbed at the thought that perhaps he was in the habit of taking the scenic route to places.  “I’ve changed my mind,” he announced.  “Calculate the quickest route.”

“Thank you.  Let me check.  You wish the Tony to calculate the quickest route to Quantico?”

“Yes.”

“Calculating route.”

Gibbs waited for the crackling and whirring to stop and then said, “Calculate the quietest route.”

Gibbs never used a sat nav but he had heard people say that sometimes it seemed that sat navs got irritated with drivers who failed to follow instructions.  When the Tony responded to the latest order, Gibbs could begin to see what those people meant.

“The Tony can only calculate two modes of route in one journey.”

“That’s stupid,” said Gibbs.

“Your observation will be noted and referred for consideration.”

“You’re very diplomatic,” said Gibbs.

“Your observation will be noted and referred for consideration.”

“Who programmed you?”

“The Tony was programmed by a talented team of NCIS programmers working to the highest standards.”

“Modest too.”

“Your response was not recognised.”

“What’s the point of a Tony?” asked Gibbs.

“The Tony is designed to keep drivers alert.  Studies show that drivers may fall asleep or suffer a lapse in concentration when driving.”

“Why not let me put the radio on then?”

“Your question will be noted and referred for consideration.”

“How do you keep the driver alert?” asked Gibbs.

“The Tony keeps the driver aware of all road conditions pertaining to the journey and makes suggestions about the method of driving.”

“How do you know what the road conditions are?”

“You asked the Tony to calculate the route.”

“But what if I hadn’t asked you to calculate the route?  How would you know where I was going?”

“Each NCIS vehicle is fitted with GPS tracking and on-board camera.”

“You’re spying on me?”

“Your observation will be noted and referred for consideration.”

“Huh.  What happens if I’m driving perfectly?”

“Please repeat.”

“What happens if I drive perfectly.  And you don’t have anything to comment on?”

The crackle was loud and prolonged.  “Statistics show that it is unlikely that there will be nothing for the Tony to comment on.”

“But if there was.  What would you do?”

“The Tony is designed to keep the driver alert.”

“You said that.  How do you keep the driver alert if the driving is perfect?”

“There will be road conditions to point out.  Route suggestions to be made.”

“What if the road is perfect and the driver is following the calculated route?  What does the Tony do then?”

There was a whirr.  “Calculating response.”

Gibbs grinned.  He quite liked the whirring sound.

“The Tony is designed to engage in meaningful conversation.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

Crackle.  “The Tony has access to a wealth of information about the user.  It looks at social media to see what the driver is interested in and makes conversation accordingly.”

“What if the driver doesn’t use social media?”

Crackle, Whirr.  “T-the Tony also has access to personnel records.  There will be material in there.”

“So, you’d know if I’d been denied a promotion?”

Rustle.  “There is no record of you having been denied a promotion.”

“But if there was?”

“The Tony could advise on grievance procedures.  The Tony can suggest counselling sources.  The Tony can suggest other career options.”

“What if I want information about something else?”

Crackle.  “What other information do you require?”

“The theory of evolution has always puzzled me.  Can you explain?”

Whirr.  Crackle.  Hiss.  “The Tony is still in prototype mode.  The Tony’s databanks have not yet been fully loaded so areas of expertise are restricted.”

“And you don’t have the theory of evolution?”

“Not at this time.”

“What do you have?”

“The Tony has an extensive movie database.  Also information about football, basketball, Italian food, the American Civil War and clog dancing.”

“Clog dancing?”

“That is correct.”

“So, tell me about clog dancing.”

Crackle.  Hiss.  Whirr.  “Your route needs to be recalculated.  The road ahead has ( _crackle)_ flooded _._ Take a right at the next intersection.”

The Tony kept Gibbs busy with redirections for several minutes and the subject of clog dancing was dropped.

“Is voice accompaniment an option if the automated drive mode is selected?” asked Gibbs.

“Voice accompaniment is not available in automated mode.”

“Why not?”

“Research has shown that drivers prefer to have silence if they are not driving.  They use the time to read, sleep or meditate.”

“And research doesn’t show that drivers who are doing the actual driving like silence as well?” asked Gibbs.

“Research shows that drivers prefer the meaningful conversation.  Even if they don’t think they do.”

“What?”

“Research shows that drivers do begin to engage with the Tony.”

“Huh.”

“The weather forecast is for sunshine and temperatures of 75.  Humidity is …”

“Tell me about movies made in DC,” ordered Gibbs.

“Let me check.  You want to know about movies made in DC?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to know about movies by a) genre, b) director, c) actor or d) year of release?

“You didn’t give me the option of asking to hear the options again,” said Gibbs.

Crackle.  Whirr.  “Your observation will be referred for consideration.”

“I want to hear all the movies,” said Gibbs.

“That is not possible.  You will overload the Tony.”

“What happens if I overload the Tony?”

“Central control will be alerted if the Tony ceases to function and will issue a BOLO.  You will be hunted down and stopped.  It is also a disciplinary offence to overload the Tony.”  Crackle.  Hiss.  Hiss.

“OK.  Tell me about chick-flick movies in DC.”

“Let me check.  You want to know about chick-flick movies made in DC?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Is the Tony supposed to contradict the user?”

“Your observation will be noted and referred for consideration.”

“So, tell me about chick-flick movies made in DC.”

“Calculating.  Please wait.”  There was a long pause and Gibbs revelled in the silence.  “The Tony has checked the database and found no items that meet the search criteria.”  Gibbs could almost believe there was a note of triumph in the tinny voice.  “Die Hard 2 was based in DC.  The Tony will now provide information about Die Hard 2.”

SOME TIME LATER

“So you really think that it was possible to drop out of that helicopter on to the plane?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes.  Although the stunt took some time to set up.”

“And you think it’s realistic that the hero got back with his wife at the end?”

“Yes.  Although it’s possible that was a device to make women enjoy the movie as well.”

“You seem to be answering better,” observed Gibbs.

“Please restate the question.”

“Fewer crackles and whirrs,” said Gibbs.  “Response time has got quicker.”

Crackle.  Whirr.  “The Tony adjusts to the driver.  As the language patterns become more familiar, the interpretation time lapse reduces.”

“And you’re using contractions.”

Hiss.  “The Tony adjusts to the driver.  The Tony aims to speak in terms which are acceptable to the driver and which reflect the driver’s own usage.  The Tony aims to make the driver feel comfortable.”

“Huh.  Seems to work.  Although your voice seems scratchy.”

Crackle.  “The Tony is programmed to sound as realistic as possible.  A human voice would become tired after some hours of use.  The Tony’s voice is designed to reflect this.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs, “But if your voice sounds tired, it might make the driver feel tired.”

“Your observation will be noted and referred for consideration.”

“And will you be programmed to answer that evolution question?”

“If there is sufficient demand for information about evolution then the Tony will be updated to reflect this.”

“But there was sufficient demand for Die Hard 2 information?”

“Everyone likes Die Hard 2.”  Crackle.  Whirr.  “Destination is 200 yards ahead.  Please reduce speed accordingly and park in a safe manner.  Please reduce speed accordingly and park in a safe manner.  Please reduce speed accordingly and park in a safe manner.  Please …”

 Gibbs sprang out of the car as soon as he had screeched it to a halt and walked away even as the Tony continued to moan plaintively.

IN THE NCIS GARAGE

Tony DiNozzo rested his head on the desk and moaned.  “Oh, God.  I thought it was never going to end.”

“Thanks, Tony,” said Tim McGee.

“You owe me,” croaked Tony.

“I promised the Director that the voice accompaniment would be operational,” said Tim.

“And it wasn’t,” pointed out Tony.

“It would have been,” protested Tim, “But I’ve been concentrating on the automated driving option.  The self-drive programming got behind.”

“Why didn’t you just let Agent Gibbs pick the silent option?” moaned Tony.

“I panicked, OK?  And it’s not meant to be an option but when he hit the steering wheel he managed to kick the receiver in.  Once that’s switched on, something has to be transmitted otherwise he’d have just got an annoying drone.”

“So, he got me instead.”

“And the Director is really keen on the idea of the interaction between the computer and the driver.”

“But it’s not there yet.”

“The Director doesn’t know that.  And I’d have done it myself …”

“But you couldn’t because you’d already done all the talking to Agent Gibbs before he got in the car.”

“Yes.  And I had to be available in case someone else came in and wanted a car.”

“So, so far all the initial contact is with you?”

“Or a member of my team,” said Tim.  “But it’s the weekend.  Who but Agent Gibbs would come into work on the weekend?”

For answer, Tony took another gulp of water.

“And it’s helping to hone the programming,” said Tim, “Asking the questions helps me construct the questions and answers.”

“And you like talking through the synthesiser,” said Tony shrewdly.

“So do you,” said Tim.

“I guess so,” said Tony.  He was a NCIS agent normally based in Hawaii but he was on vacation in DC and had dropped in to visit his old friend Tim from Cybercrimes.  He had found Tim pretending to be a computer talking (or tormenting) Gibbs through the options of selecting a car and, almost without knowing what he was letting himself in for, had taken the synthesiser off Tim and agreed to be the newly named _Tony_ for the journey. 

Tony turned the handle on the old fashioned egg beater and listened to the whirring sound and then crumpled the empty potato chip packet and heard the crackle.  “Good sound effects,” he praised.

“Yeah, although you nearly spoiled it when you sighed,” said Tim.

“I managed to change them into a hiss,” said Tony.  “It was hard work.”

“I know.”

“But,” admitted Tony, “It had its moments.  I mean, Agent Gibbs’ driving is legendary and it was kinda fun telling him off about it.”

Tim grinned, “But I can’t believe you didn’t know about the theory of evolution …” Tim broke off when he saw Tony’s glare.  “But that’s fine … no problem.  Er … you’d better hit the head.”

“What?  Who are you, my Mom?”

“You need to,” said Tim.

“Why?”

Tim gestured to the on-board camera.  “Gibbs is on his way back to the car.  He’ll need his Tony!”

NCISNCIS

“Agent McGee.”

“Yes, Director?”

“Agent Gibbs here took a car out of the pool on Sunday.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Agent Gibbs, perhaps you liked to tell Agent McGee what you told me?” said the Director.

Tim swallowed anxiously.

“Well,” said Gibbs sternly, “The booking out system needs a little working on …”

“Yes, Agent Gibbs.”

“But … the Tony was OK.  I didn’t think it would be but I got used to it.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, the yabba-yabba was good.  I’ll choose it every time I book a car out.”

Agent Gibbs walked off with an approving nod at Tim.

“Good work, Agent McGee,” said the Director, “Get on it.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Tim as he wondered how he’d break the news to the real Tony.                                                                                                                  


	21. Chapter 21

“Special Agent Gibbs,” said Tony as he sat down opposite Gibbs in the diner.

“Detective DiNozzo,” replied Gibbs.

“Nice place,” said Tony as he looked around.

Gibbs nodded.

“What can I get you?” asked the waitress.

Tony looked at the menu, “Coffee and a donut, please.”

“Cream and sugar with that?”

“’Fraid so,” said Tony with a rueful smile.

“Honey, we’d go broke if everyone ate sensibly,” said the waitress kindly.  “You ready for a refill, Gibbs?”

Gibbs nodded but Tony scowled as the waitress walked away, “They know you here?”

“Yeah,” said Gibbs.

“Thought we were meant to be meeting somewhere _neutral_ ,” said Tony, “So we could discuss why you would want to hire me.”

“ _I_ thought you might like to see somewhere I come regularly,” said Gibbs.

Tony stared at him with narrowed eyes, “Not a good start, Agent Gibbs.”  He paused to take a bite of the donut supplied by the waitress, “But they’re good donuts,” he conceded.

Gibbs looked smug, “So we’re all right to stay here?”

“I guess,” said Tony.  “So, go on.  Explain why you made the job offer.”

Gibbs shifted uncomfortably, “You’re good at your job.”

“Go on.”

“You’re honest – you proved that with Danny Price.  Quick … and I don’t just mean at running.  You figured out my play in Baltimore.”

“And that’s it?”

“Like I said, you’re good.  And you don’t waste good.”

“And the plan?”

“What do you mean, _plan_?”

“How do you think we’d work together?” asked Tony.

“I’d train you,” said Gibbs.

“OK,” said Tony, “Let’s put a pin in that.  Why would you think I should come work for you … for NCIS?”

“Better resources, better equipment.  How many times does a Baltimore detective miss out on solving a crime because by the suspect has disappeared by the time the forensics come back?”

“True,” admitted Tony.

“NCIS get a variety of cases,” said Gibbs.  “Theft, murder, espionage.  Lot of travel involved.”

“In what sort of aircraft?” asked Tony.  “Never heard anything about NCIS having their own airplane.”

“Speed’s the most important thing,” said Gibbs evasively.

“One of the good things about being a detective is having your own patch,” said Tony, “Getting to know what’s going on, getting a feel for things.”

“As a federal agent, your patch is bigger,” said Gibbs, “The whole Navy and the Marine Corps.”

“Huh,” said Tony.

“The pay’s better,” said Gibbs.

“You think that’s important?” asked Tony.

“Can’t hurt,” said Gibbs.  “Let me ask _you_ a question.”

“Go for it.”

“Why would you think of coming to work for NCIS?”

“The guns and the babes,” said Tony lightly.  He saw Gibbs’ scowl, “Better resources, better equipment, better pay.”

“That all?” asked Gibbs.

Tony sighed, “No, although I’m not saying none of those things matter.  Because of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”  Tony looked embarrassed but continued, “I see something in you.  I think working with you would make me better at the job.  You read people, you have intuition …”

“Gut,” interjected Gibbs.

“Yeah, gut,” said Tony.  “And I want some of that.”  Gibbs nodded.  “But if the guns and the babes are around …”

“Bozo!” said Gibbs with a hint of affection.

“But,” said Tony, “ _You_ might also be the reason _not_ to work for NCIS.”

“Explain,” said Gibbs.

“You’re passionate, committed …”

“Sounds good,” said Gibbs.

“The job comes first.”

“Damn straight.”

“And that’s … worrying.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m willing to go the extra mile or so but I want to sleep sometimes, have some downtime.  All things that don’t figure high on your wish list.”

Gibbs shrugged, “I couldn’t promise an easy ride.”

“And then there’s you …”

“You already said that,” grumbled Gibbs.

“The case in Baltimore.  You rode roughshod over everyone to get your way.  You say that I’m good but there was nothing to show that you thought that,” said Tony.

“I don’t hold my agents’ hands,” said Gibbs.  “There’s a job to be done.  Victims to get justice for.”

“I understand that, Agent Gibbs.  I’m just not sure … In some ways you’re refreshing.”

“Never been called that before,” said Gibbs with a half-smile.

“The honesty, cutting through the nonsense.  Can’t imagine you using a velvet glove.”

“A what?”

“You know, the iron fist in a velvet glove.  You’d have thrown the velvet glove out years ago.”

“You bet.”

“Tell me, _Agent_ Gibbs about your training methods,” said Tony.

“Same as how my Boss taught me,” said Gibbs.  “He expected me to watch what he did and learn.”

“Let me guess, he didn’t hand out praise?”

“Nope,” Gibbs smiled reminiscently, “Best I could hope for was being told that I hadn’t messed it up as bad as I did before.”

“And that worked for you?”

“I’m an NCIS Supervisory Agent,” said Gibbs, “What do you think?”

“And you just have one method of teaching?” asked Tony, “Does it ever occur to you to have a different approach?”

“If someone’s going to be on my team, they have to follow my rules,” said Gibbs.

“I see,” said Tony, “And what do you think about the people on your team?”

“What you mean?”

“I’m guessing you only recruit the best?  People who can meet your standards?”

“Yes.  What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.  Of course, nothing.  But do you respect them?”

“Explain.”

“Don’t think it’s a good sign I have to explain.  Do you respect their skills, the contribution they make?  Or is the only thing that matters that the job gets done and if you trample on a co-worker that doesn’t matter.”

“I told you, I don’t hold my agents’ hands.”

Tony tried a different tack, “How do you build a team?” 

“Working as a team is important,” said Gibbs.  “it’s one of my rules.”

“And what does that mean … in reality?”

Gibbs looked blank.

“Does it really just mean that the team follows your lead?”

“I guess,” said Gibbs.  “If they do that then everyone’s doing what they should be doing.  Listen, I look out for my team and I expect them to look out for one another.  Whatever you think of me, I want my team to be safe.”

“In the field,” murmured Tony.

“What?”

“I’m sure you look out for them when they’re on a job.  But what about when they’re in the office.  Do you look out for them there?”

“I don’t get what you’re saying,” said Gibbs, “My teams always work together.”

“OK,” sighed Tony.  “So, is there any reason you _wouldn’t_ want to hire me?”

“Your bad points?” asked Gibbs.  “You really want to hear those?”

Tony shrugged in his turn, “Go for it.”

Gibbs hesitated before saying, “I wouldn’t have made the offer if I didn’t think you’d be a good fit.”

“Good to know,” said Tony.  “So you made the offer because you thought I’d be good at the job.”

“And you thought about accepting the offer because you thought you had something to learn from me,” said Gibbs.

Tony’s eyes clouded over.  “So where did it go wrong, Boss?”

“I didn’t think it had,” said Gibbs.

Tony sighed and hid his face in his hands for a moment or two as he thought back over the last few months.  Tony had taken over leading the MCRT when Gibbs upped and retired to Mexico after being blown up on a ship in harbour but had been demoted when Gibbs decided to return. 

Relations between the two had been strained ever since leading to tensions within the team.  Tony was considering whether to leave but found himself reluctant to go on a sour note.  He had discussed the problem with Dr Rachel Cranston who had suggested that he and Gibbs _go back to the beginning_ and think about why they had agreed to work together in the first place.  Somewhat to Tony’s surprise, Gibbs had agreed – probably because it had been suggested by _Dr Kate’s Sister_ for whom Gibbs had a great respect.

“You thought that coming back in and dumping all my stuff on my old desk was an acceptable way of behaving?” asked Tony.

“I guess I could have done that differently,” said Gibbs.  “But, hey, it was a spur of the moment decision to come back.  Maybe, I didn’t think it through.”

“I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t pee on my desk just to make the point about your territory.” asked Tony.  He saw a glint in Gibbs’ eye, “You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” said Gibbs, “I didn’t pee on your desk.  Or any desk.  Is that what this is all about, DiNozzo?  Me not consulting with you?”

“Why would that come as a surprise to you?” said Tony.  “But I guess it did because you’re not used to me taking offence at what you do.”

“You know I think you’re good at the job,” said Gibbs.  “Hey, I wouldn’t have left you in charge when I retired if I didn’t think you could do it.”

“And that was supposed to be enough?” said Tony.  “And what does it say about how good I am at the job when you come back, interfere in two cases and then grab your job back?  Not exactly a ringing endorsement, is it?”

“I said I could have handled that better,” said Gibbs.

“Weeks later, when I told you it had riled me.”

“Well, I’ve admitted it now.  Can we move on?”

“You know, a few months ago I’d have said yes.  Hell, a few months ago it wouldn’t have occurred to me to talk to you about it.  But things have changed.”

“How?”

“I was in charge all that time you were on your margarita safari.”

“You want to be in charge, DiNozzo?”

“it’s not a crime, Gibbs.  But no, that’s not my point.  When Jenny put me in charge I thought I had to lead like you did but then I realised that wasn’t going to work.  It’s not my way, sure I wanted them to do what I told them but I was willing to listen to their input, to be _collaborative_ … and no, it’s not a dirty word.  And it worked, or it was beginning to.”

“Jenny said you’d done a good job,” admitted Gibbs.

“I think I bought into your whole macho mystique, Boss.  Maybe I’ve watched too many John Wayne movies …”

“Yah think?”

“’Course not, no such thing as too many of the Duke’s movies.  No, what I’m saying is that I bought into the strong leadership vibe you’ve got going on … I guess it’s because there’s so much that I admire about you that I thought your way of leading must be right too.”

“And now you don’t think so?”

“No, I think it sucks.  I think it works for people like you but …”

“Go on, DiNozzo.  Too late to back down now.”

“Ziva once asked you if it was too much to ask for respect.”

“She told you that?”

“You know, Gibbs we do talk when you’re not in the squad room.  And not always about work.  Yes, she told us but I don’t think she noticed my mouth drop open in shock.  You never seem to give us … me … any respect.  Lot of the time it seems to me that you think having a team is a necessary evil and you’re working on it being an _un_ necessary evil.”

“Tony …”

Tony held up his hand to stop Gibbs, “And it’s not all your fault.  I have this stupid need to please people … and if it’s someone I admire then that need amps up a lot.  I saw you were good at the job, you’d recruited me and I was grateful.  Hell, I must have been grateful seeing as I’ve worked for you longer than anywhere else.  So I didn’t call you on it, and I should have.”

“And you are now,” said Gibbs.

“Yes,” said Tony.  “Because I know it doesn’t have to be like this.  It’s possible to be a strong leader _and_ show respect for your team.  And it’s not about being _soft_ or _nice:_ it’s about recognising the gifts and contributions of others without feeling undermined.  You know, we might work better if we weren’t constantly on edge waiting for you to make another impossible demand or bawl us out for something that’s not our fault.”

“And you’ve been bottling this up – for how long?” asked Gibbs.

“Not all the time,” said Tony, “And if you hadn’t taken off and left me in charge, I’d probably still be living in a Gibbs induced state of terror but thinking that it was perfectly normal.”

“So you should be grateful I got blown up?” said Gibbs.

“No, never, Boss,” said Tony seriously.  “Thinking you’d been killed was one of the worst moments in my life.  And thinking you’d never remember me comes pretty close after.”

“I guess I should be grateful for that,” said Gibbs drily.

“It’s because I think I’ve still got things to learn from you that I spoke to Rachel,” said Tony.  “I could walk away tomorrow to another job but I don’t want to do that.  I want to carry on working with you … for a while at least but I won’t do it unless things change.  She was right, it’s helped me to look back and remember why I came to work for you – and it wasn’t for the better resources, better equipment and better pay.”

“Or the guns and babes?”

“Well, possibly those,” grinned Tony.  “I came to NCIS because of _you_ , because of something I saw in you that I admired and wanted to know more about.”

“And?”

“And I was right about that, it was a good decision.  But your leadership style sucks – or at least it does when you’re leading someone who’s good at his job and who you say you respect.  If you respect someone you don’t need to treat them as if they’re children – actually, not like children, you’re nice to _them_.  I don’t know, perhaps like out of control teenagers who can’t be trusted.”  Tony held up his hand, “And yes, perhaps sometimes I do act like a teenager but never when it matters, Boss.  And you need to trust that too.”

Gibbs took another sip of coffee and considered his reply, “I do trust you, Tony.  And I do respect you.  I thought you knew that.  You wouldn’t still be on my team if I didn’t think you were more than up for the job and I’d have never made you my Senior Field Agent.  And maybe I lost sight of all that because … because I’m a bastard.  And because you took it all so I never had to stop and think about it.”

“And now?”

“And now, you’ve made me stop and think about it.  And I don’t want you to go.  I depend on you and that’s probably as big of a compliment as I’ve ever given anyone. “

“Again, good.  But what now?”

“Now, I’ll try to remember.  I’ll try to make it clearer that I respect you.  I don’t know what that’s going to look like but I’ll try.  And if I screw up …”

“If you screw up, I’ll call you on it,” said Tony firmly.

“See that you do,” ordered Gibbs.

“You can depend on me,” said Tony.

“Always do, Tony.  Always do.  So, we good?”

“I think so.  Guess I owe Rachel a dinner.”

“We both do,” said Gibbs.

“Hmm,” said Tony, “I think we both got in to the spirit of going back all those years.  Perhaps we should think about role play as a way of resolving conflict …”  He saw Gibbs about to explode and hurried on, “Or not.”

“Not,” said Gibbs firmly, “But it was a good thought, making me remember why I thought it was a good idea to hire a cocky, opinionated scrawny detective from Baltimore.”

“But with a nice smile,” said Tony.

“There is that,” said Gibbs gravely.

“So, Boss, now that we’ve got over our _failure to communicate_ …”  Gibbs groaned.  “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Something _else_?” said Gibbs with a hint of a whine, “I’ve already used up my stock of words for the rest of the year.”

“And I appreciate it, Boss,” grinned Tony.  “But I need to tell you something.”

“Go on,” said Gibbs.  “Now that I’ve let you into the secret of where I get my coffee every day, I guess I’ve opened the floodgates to the _inner_ Gibbs.”

Tony was momentarily distracted, “Yeah.  It’s great.  Sort of homely – I bet they make great apple pie.  And it was a good thought, Boss.”

“Spit it out,” said Gibbs, “My hair could go even greyer waiting for you to come to the point.”

Tony’s eyes sparkled for a moment but then went serious as he said, “Jenny’s got me working on this secret assignment.  Boss, I think I’m getting in over my head …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done at last. I think 21 versions of Tony and Gibbs meeting is enough – even if this last one was more them trying to remember why they originally decided to work together.
> 
> I’ve enjoyed writing the stories and reading the comments and the suggestions for other meetings – who knows, one day there may be a series 2 of the Meetings. 
> 
> In the meantime, thank you to everyone who reviewed and/or made suggestions. The characters are back in their NCIS boxes and probably very grateful to be there!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long hiatus, I decided I had some ideas for new Gibbs/Tony first meetings. A reminder that these will mess with canon/timelines … pretty much everything really!

 “Gibbs.  For Mr DiNozzo.”

“Certainly, Sir.  You are expected.  Please follow the drive up to the house,” came a tinny voice through the intercom at the security gates.

The gates swung open and Leroy Jethro Gibbs drove his car as directed to the impressive mansion in the Hamptons.  As he parked the car, a man bustled out of the house and attempted to take his equipment from him.

“It’s OK,” said Gibbs brusquely as he took a quick look around the grounds.

“This way, Sir.  Mr DiNozzo is in his study.”

Gibbs followed the man into a wood panelled room with an impressive desk set before French windows which offered a view across the expansive gardens.  A middle-aged man stood up from behind the desk,

“Mr Gibbs.  Good to see you.  Can I offer you refreshments?”  Gibbs shook his head and Mr DiNozzo turned to his butler, “Goodison, go and find my son, will you?  Tell him that Mr Gibbs is here.  We’ll be in the library.”

Goodison nodded and padded quietly out of the room.

“This way, Mr Gibbs,” said Mr DiNozzo.

When they arrived in the library it seemed to occur to Gibbs that he should say something, “It’s an impressive room,” he commented.

This seemed to be a good thing to say as Mr DiNozzo smiled, “Yes, it is.  Although, I regret that my busy schedule means I don’t spend much time in here,” he paused and thought some sort of explanation was needed, “Many of the books are away at the moment … for conservation.”

Gibbs nodded at this explanation of the gaps in the shelves but didn’t need to find anything else to say as someone hurried into the room at that point.

“Junior!” said Mr DiNozzo crossly, “I told you that Mr Gibbs was coming.  What are you doing dressed like that?”

Gibbs looked at the tall teenager and noticed that he was casually dressed in what looked like running shorts and football shirt.

“Oh,” said the lad, “I didn’t think.  Is this not OK?”

“Of course it’s not!” snapped Mr DiNozzo.  “You’re about to have your portrait painted.  You’re a DiNozzo – do you want generations to come to see you as some idle layabout?  Go and get changed.  Put a suit and tie on.”

Gibbs decided to intervene, “I’ll only be doing preliminary sketches today,” he said, “It doesn’t really matter what your son is wearing.”

“Dad?” asked the young man hopefully.

“Oh, very well,” said Mr DiNozzo.  “But I don’t want you to be painted looking like that.  Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.  Oh, Mr Gibbs, this is my son, Anthony,” said Mr DiNozzo.

“Tony,” said his son as he held out his hand, “Please, call me Tony.”

“Tony,” agreed Gibbs as he took the hand.  “Mr DiNozzo, would it be all right if Tony showed me around the house?  I’m not sure that this room is the best place to set the portrait.”

“Well …” said Mr DiNozzo doubtfully.

“I’d like to see if there is another setting … you know, to capture something of what it means to be a DiNozzo.”

“Of course,” said Mr DiNozzo.  “I have a few minutes to spare.  I can show you some of the features of the house which might look well in a painting.”

“That’s kind of you, Sir.  But I like to get to know my subjects before getting down to painting.  Perhaps I could do that while your son shows me around.  I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.  I’m sure you’ve got other things you need to be doing.”

Mr DiNozzo smiled with gratification.  “You’re right.  I am a busy man.  Junior, show Mr Gibbs around the house.”  He nodded benignly and left the library.

“Have you seen enough of this room?” asked Tony politely.

Gibbs cast a cursory look around and nodded.

“I’ll show you the saloon first,” decided Tony, “That’s probably the most impressive room.  I guess Dad would like a painting in there.”

Gibbs nodded again but didn’t speak.  In fact, he didn’t speak much as Tony showed him the saloon, the lounge, the orangery, the pool house and the music room.

“There are some smaller rooms,” offered Tony.

“No, that’s fine,” said Gibbs.  “I’m thinking that the entrance area might be best.”

“Yes?” asked Tony.  He looked around, “Well, I guess the staircase is grand.”

“The light’s better here,” pronounced Gibbs pointing to the domed skylight which illuminated the entrance hall.

“I guess,” said Tony.  As he wondered what to say, his stomach rumbled, “Oops,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

Gibbs wondered what the apology was for but decided not to probe, “Your father offered me refreshments when I arrived …” he suggested.

This got the liveliest response yet from Tony.  “Great idea,” he said, “I’ll go and ask the kitchen to get something.  Tea or coffee for you?  Or juice … or …”

“Coffee will be fine,” said Gibbs, “Black.”

“Shall we go and sit on the veranda?” asked Tony, “You get a good view of the grounds from there.”

Gibbs agreed, and it wasn’t long before the butler arrived with a tray.  Gibbs quickly saw that a request for coffee had been interpreted liberally with both coffee and juice and a large plate of cookies being supplied.  Somehow, Gibbs thought the household staff were well acquainted with Tony’s stomach.

Tony took a swallow of juice, ate two cookies whole and then braced himself.

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“You told my father you wanted to get to know me,” said Tony, “Go on then.”

“Don’t need your life history,” said Gibbs.

“Oh,” said Tony in a tone which suggested both relief and regret.  He paused, “So you were just trying to get rid of him?”

Gibbs shrugged.  “Like I said, he’s a busy man.  No need to waste his time.”

“You know, I’m kinda surprised he’s paying to have me painted,” said Tony through a mouthful of cookie.

“Yeah?”

“Although he said he’s not really paying … making a contribution to a charity.  Is that right?”

“Yes.  A Marine Corps Welfare Charity.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, “You an ex-Marine?”

“No such thing as an ex-Marine,” said Gibbs firmly.

“But you served?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look like an artist,” said Tony.

“What does an artist look like?” asked an amused Gibbs.

“Don’t know,” admitted Tony, “I mean, I didn’t expect you to show up in an artist’s smock and floppy hat … but you’ve got the eyes …”

“The eyes?”

Tony looked embarrassed, “I get the feeling they don’t miss much.  You’re always looking, observing … I think artists probably do that.”

“I’m new to it,” confessed Gibbs.

“Yeah?”

“I usually do sculpture … wood carving but I overdid working with some lignum vitae.”

“What’s that?”

“Very hard and tough wood.  Difficult to work with and I strained my hands.  But sculptors draw as well so I am trying my hand at that while they get better.”

“Huh,” said Tony, “I guess that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

Tony looked embarrassed again, “I tried to look you up.  Couldn’t find you.”

Gibbs laughed, “You tell your father?”

“No.  He thinks he got a bargain.  He wouldn’t listen to me,” said Tony.

Gibbs looked at the lad sharply but didn’t detect any resentment, just simple resignation.

“I did a couple of portraits,” continued Gibbs, “Turned out one of them was of the son of one of your father’s business contacts.  He showed it to Mr DiNozzo … and well, here I am.”

“Dad said it seemed to be a new trend – you know, having your children painted.  He’s jumping on the bandwagon – especially as it’s cheap,” Tony smiled to take the sting out of any apparent criticism.”  Gibbs nodded.  “And we’ve got some gaps on the walls,” continued Tony, “Some of the paintings have gone.”

“For conservation?” asked Gibbs blandly.

“Yes, that’s why Dad says,” replied Tony equally blandly.

Gibbs swallowed the last of his coffee and stood to go, “I’ll see you in the morning.  10.00?”

“Absolutely,” said Tony, “In my suit and tie.”

XXXXXX

It was no surprise that Gibbs arrived on the dot of 10.00.  He was a little surprised, however, that Tony was waiting for him, dressed smartly in what looked like an expensive suit.  Gibb spent some time setting up the easel and got Tony to sit with his back to the front door which was left open to reveal the long drive up to the house.  He took some photos as well and then settled down to begin the portrait.

“You mind being painted?” he asked Tony.

Tony shrugged, “It’s OK.  I’m not used to sitting still.  I get restless.”

“Sit for 30 minutes and we’ll take a break,” promised Gibbs.  “How long are you home for?”

“Just until August.  Then I start college.”

“Hmm,” said Gibbs, “Where you going?”

“Harvard.”

“What you going to be studying?”

“I’m doing a joint degree: Law and Business,” said Tony emotionlessly.

“That sounds …” Gibbs floundered as he couldn’t decide what it sounded like.

“Useful,” supplied Tony, “A good basis for getting on?”

“I guess,” agreed Gibbs.  “Your father must be proud?”

Tony looked surprised at this concept, “I suppose so.”

“You interested in Law?”

Tony shrugged again before saying, “Is it OK for me to talk while you paint?”

“I’ll tell you when to shut up,” said Gibbs.  Tony nodded: Gibbs was polite but somehow, he had no difficulty in imagining Gibbs giving orders … orders which would be obeyed.

After working for 30 minutes, Gibbs decided it was time for the promised break.

“Can I see?” asked Tony.

“Nope,” said Gibbs.

Tony sank back into his chair trying not to look bored.

Gibbs continued working until lunch time with occasional breaks.  Tony began to suspect that the breaks were not for _his_ benefit but to feed the artist’s caffeine addiction.  After lunch, Gibbs suggested that Tony take him on a tour of the grounds, an offer which Tony accepted with alacrity.

“What would you have been doing this morning … if you weren’t being painted?” asked Gibbs.

“Running,” said Tony, “Practising my basketball … and football.  Maybe swimming.  I’m trying to get my stamina and endurance up.”

“Meeting up with buddies?”

Tony had that odd blank stare again at the suggestion of meeting up with friends, “Nah,” he said, “I’ve been away at Military Academy … and lots of boarding schools before that.  And sometimes … often … Senior’s away during the school breaks so I don’t come home.  Means I don’t have many friends around here.”

“You go out with your Dad?”

“Sure, sometimes we go to his country club.  He wants me to play golf.  Says it’ll be useful.”

“You play together?”

“I’m not good enough yet.”

Gibbs wanted to suggest that perhaps _Senior_ could teach his son but somehow he thought that would attract the blank stare he was getting used to.

“You like sport?” he asked instead.

“Yes,” said Tony with a burst of enthusiasm.

Gibbs liked to see an energetic Tony and was about to probe further when Mr DiNozzo approached them.

“I wondered where you were,” he said severely.  “I’d thought you’d be working,”

“We were just taking a break,” said Gibbs mildly.  “And I think we’re probably done for the day,” he looked with some compassion at a Tony who was clearly bursting with energy which was almost screaming to be released in some sporting activity.

“Oh,” said Mr DiNozzo, “Well, as it happens, that’s convenient.  Junior, Cameron Lloyd is on his way over …”

Tony groaned, and his father looked at him sternly, “Now, Junior, you know that Cameron is an important player in the deal I’m working on.  He’s bringing Colin with him.  I said you’d give him a game of tennis.”

“But,” said Tony, “He sucks!”

“Anthony … remember what I said.  I want you to play Colin … and let him win.”

“But …” began Tony.

“Do what I say, Junior.  It will make his father happy.”

“Yes, Dad,” said Tony wearily.

Gibbs wondered what sort of game he would really give Colin and he suspected that Tony’s competitive spirit would win out.  At that moment, however, Tony’s face transformed, and he called out to a youth around his own age who was walking up the drive with an older man, “Hey, Col!  Great to see you!  Hey, just let me go and get changed and we can have a game of tennis!  You on?”

Colin Lloyd was a good-looking boy, albeit slightly on the chubby side, and his face lit up at the thought of tennis, “You bet,” he said.

Tony came and slung an arm around Colin’s shoulders, “Go easy on me, though,” he admonished, “You’ll have to show me how you get that top spin on your serve …”

The two boys’ voices faded away as they walked towards the house.  Mr DiNozzo watched them go with a look of satisfaction on his face.

“Will Tony let Colin win?” asked Gibbs curiously.

“Of course,” said Mr DiNozzo in surprise, “It’s always good to oil the wheels.”

“But Tony’s only … what … 17, 18?”

“It’s never too early to start learning the harsh realities of life, Mr Gibbs.  I’ve warned my son that if he doesn’t buckle down, he’ll end up in the gutter!  Good day, Mr Gibbs.”

XXXXXX

Work continued on the portrait over the next few days.  Tony, and Mr DiNozzo, had only expected it to take a couple of days but it turned out that Gibbs was surprisingly indecisive and kept changing Tony’s pose to create what he called the right ambience.

Mr DiNozzo had tried gently to hint that he might speed up a little but was quelled by a disconcertingly stern frown, “It’s my _process_ ,” he said in a warning tone that reminded Mr DiNozzo that he was getting the portrait at a bargain price.

Tony had still not been permitted a look at the work in progress.  Gibbs always took care to cover it when he was not working on it and took it home at night with him.

“You seem to spend a lot of time scraping paint off,” observed Tony.

“That can be the most important part of painting,” responded Gibbs.

“You must use a lot of paint,” suggested Tony.

“It’s the way I work,” said Gibbs.

“I know,” sighed Tony as he shifted restlessly, “It’s your process.”  He yawned and stretched and then said, “Tell me about the Marines.”

Gibbs was surprised, “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.  What it’s like?  What it feels like?”

“What it feels like?  What do you mean?” asked Gibbs.

“Being part of something … serving … making a difference,” said Tony.

“It feels good,” said Gibbs.  He hesitated, not wanting to get involved with whatever was going on with Tony but then went ahead, “Why, you thinking of joining?”

Tony just laughed, “No.  But tell me what it’s like.”

Gibbs decided to oblige Tony and the rest of the morning passed easily with Tony enthralled by Gibbs’ (edited) account of his service.  Perhaps it was this insight into Gibbs’ life that made Tony tentatively ask at lunchtime, “Has Dad paid … er … made that contribution yet?”

“No, but the work’s not done yet,” replied Gibbs, “Why?”

Tony picked at his sandwich before saying awkwardly, “It’s just that sometimes … sometimes … well, he hasn’t always got cash around.”

“I see.”

“I mean, he always means to pay … but sometimes he hasn’t got …”

“Cash on hand,” said Gibbs.  He thought of something, “Do you have money, Tony?”  He wondered if there was a reason that Tony seemed always to be around the house rather than off having fun.

“Well, I’m supposed to get an allowance,” said Tony.  “But I often do something which means I get cut off.  But it’s fine.  And I’m used to it anyway.”

“You’re used to it?” asked Gibbs.

“Sure.  Like I said, sometimes Senior has _cashflow_ problems.  He usually manages to pay my school fees but other things …”

“Like your allowance …”

“Yeah, he can’t always manage that.  But it’s OK … I manage.”

“I guess you don’t need money at school,” said Gibbs tentatively.

Tony looked surprisingly outraged, “Hey, I don’t get to look like this without effort, you know.  My hair takes serious work to get it looking like this.”  Gibbs gazed at what he thought looked like fairly ordinary hair.  “I have to get just the right sort of gel,” said Tony as he passed a protective hand over his hair.

Gibbs suppressed a laugh, “So how do you manage?” he asked gravely.

“I help out the groundsman at school,” said Tony, “I help with cutting the grass, marking out the pitches … things like that.”

“Sounds boring,” said Gibbs, waiting to see the reaction.

“ _Boring!_ ” exclaimed Tony, “It’s not boring.  I don’t think anything about sport is _boring_.  And it helps you learn about the game.  And it might have come in useful.”

“Yeah?”

Tony leaned forward and said confidentially, “I wanted to do sports … do a phys-ed degree.  I even got accepted to Columbus – you know, OSU.  Full ride … scholarships and everything but …”

“But?”

“Dad said No.  He said I had to do something grown up.  Something I could make a living at.  I tried to tell him I could turn pro …”

“You that good?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes,” said Tony with simple pride.  “Coach says I could do either basketball or football.  I mean, I know it would be hard … nothing guaranteed but it would be so cool to do what I wanted.  Four years of sports … making friends … and there’s other ways of making a living from sports.”

“Then why don’t you?” asked Gibbs.

“Dad’s all I’ve got,” said Tony.  He paused and seemed to rethink, “Or really, I’m all _he’s_ got.  My Mom told me to look after him before … she died.”

“Oh,” said Gibbs, “When did she die?”

“When I was eight,” said Tony.

“Oh,” said Gibbs, “Well, I’m sure she told your Dad to look after _you_ as well.  It’s meant to work both ways, you know.  And you were only eight.”

“I guess,” said Tony.

“You’re just a kid, Tony,” said Gibbs, “You’re allowed to be a kid sometimes, you know.  Follow your heart, follow your dream!”

Tony looked at Gibbs with bemused hope but before he could reply, his father stamped out on to the veranda and shouted at Gibbs,

“Get out!  Now!  Get out!”

Tony stared at his father in shock, but Gibbs seemed unperturbed.

“Dad?” asked Tony.

For a moment it looked as if Mr DiNozzo was going to say more but he changed his mind and said more mildly, “I can see you’re not going to deny anything.  So just leave.  Now!”

Gibbs nodded and stood up.  “It was good to meet you, Tony,” he said.  He rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Remember what I said.”

XXXXXX

“Good work, Jethro,” said Director Tom Morrow as he met with Gibbs and Agent Tobias Fornell in his office at NCIS.

“Although you posing as an artist is a bit of a stretch,” said Fornell.

Gibbs grinned, “I managed to keep it hidden.  Talked about process.  And I got Kate to do some sketches for me from the photos, so I had something to show if it came to it.”

“It worked well,” said Morrow, “And getting the boy to pose in the entrance way was just inspired.  We’ve got a record of all sorts of people coming to visit DiNozzo Senior.”

Gibbs nodded.  The FBI and NCIS had been running a joint operation to try and work out a potential scam with former Marine Corps personnel being targeted as they left active service to invest their severance pay into dubious schemes including new housing developments which seemed unlikely ever to be built.  Anthony DiNozzo was a name which cropped up frequently among those who were potentially involved and a way of investigating him was looked for.

Special Agent Gibbs, freshly back from his Europe assignment, was chosen to go in as his face was unknown among the vultures hovering around the Marines.  A sudden craze for portraits of the children of the wealthy provided an _in_ especially as it was known that DiNozzo wanted to keep up appearances but lacked the cash to do it in style.  Painting Tony’s portrait had provided him with the chance to explore the house, take photos and monitor the visitors.

“We sure that DiNozzo wasn’t involved?” Gibbs asked.

“He skates on thin ice,” said Fornell, “But he doesn’t do anything actually illegal.  Actually, I think … that he’s just not a very good businessman.  Not good at the detail and probably not a good judge of character either.  He just looks at the surface, doesn’t look for anything deeper – that’s not a good recipe for business success.”

“Yeah,” sighed Gibbs, “And I think that goes for how he looks at his son too.”

“Well,” said Morrow, “It was good work, gentlemen.  Always good to co-operate with the FBI, Agent Fornell!”

Fornell grinned and might have said something more but at that moment the Director’s secretary called through on his desk phone.

“Jethro,” he said in surprise, “You have a visitor.”

“Yes?”

“Anthony DiNozzo is at reception, asking to speak with you.”

“DiNozzo?” asked Gibbs in shock.  Then he thought again, “Tony?”

Morrow nodded, and Gibbs hurried out of the room.

A few minutes later, Gibbs and Tony were sitting at a desk in the break room.

“How did you find me?” asked Gibbs.

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” said Tony, “It’s a pretty unusual name.  I called up a geeky friend of mine … he’s into computers.  And his Dad is in the Navy, an admiral.  I figured he might find you because of the Marine thing.  And he did, and here I am.”

“Good work,” praised Gibbs.  “Why are you here?”

Tony shifted uncomfortably in a familiar gesture, “Is my Dad a crook?” he asked eventually.  “Is that why you were there, at the house?”

“What did your Dad say?” asked Gibbs cautiously.

“He said you weren’t an artist – which I’d guessed.  I sneaked a look under the covers when you went to the bathroom: there wasn’t much to see.”  Gibbs nodded, finding himself almost proud at Tony’s enterprise.  “And he said that you were there under false pretences.  Said he thought you were probably planning a robbery, that’s why you wanted to look around the house.”

“Why didn’t he call the police then?”

“I asked him that,” said Tony, “He said he didn’t want the fuss.”

“But you didn’t believe him?”

“I didn’t think you’re a burglar,” said Tony.

“Why not?”

Tony shrugged, “You didn’t look like one.  And I guess I don’t know what one would look like, anymore than I knew what an artist would look like … but it didn’t feel right.”

“What did your Dad do?”

“He was angry.  I’ve never seen him so angry.  And I was confused … but then Tim – my geek friend – found out that you work for NCIS.  Which I’d never heard of, by the way.  You seriously need to get more publicity – maybe have a TV series made about you …”

“I’ll tell the Director,” said Gibbs gravely.

“And I told my Dad what I’d found out … and …”

“And?”

“It turned out that he already knew.  That’s why he threw you out.  One of his business partners found out and told him.  Apparently, he got mad that you were in the house.  Said he didn’t trust Senior and might pull out of the business deal.”

“Colin’s Dad?” asked Gibbs.  Tony nodded, and Gibbs filed that information away for later.  “So, why did you come here?” asked Gibbs.  “Long way from New York to DC, especially when you’ve not got any money.”

“I was mad at you,” said Tony, “I felt … betrayed … used.  I liked you … trusted you … even though I knew something was up … and I hadn’t told anyone else about the scholarship and wanting to do phys-ed …”

“I know,” said Gibbs, “But I was a Marine …”

“Didn’t think you could be an ex-Marine,” said Tony cheekily.

Gibbs grinned, “You know what I mean.  I was doing a job, Tony.  I was under orders.”

“Is my Dad a crook?” asked Tony again.

Gibbs was grateful he could answer honestly, “No, he isn’t.  He was tied up with people who weren’t honest … that’s why we were looking at him … but no, he’s not a crook.”

“And did you catch people who were?” asked Tony.

“I can’t tell you that,” said Gibbs.

“Oh,” sighed Tony.

“But I will tell you that it was worthwhile.  It wasn’t for nothing.”

“I guess that will have to do,” said Tony.  “I suppose …”

“What?”

“… that Senior’s not a very good businessman,” said Tony.  “I think he needs to be doing something else really.”

“Like what?” asked Gibbs, intrigued to see that Tony seemed to be a better judge of character than his father.  Tony looked like Mr DiNozzo, but Gibbs wondered if, in terms of character, he took after his mother.

“I don’t know,” said Tony, “Are there jobs where you can play golf and socialise all the time?  I think that’s what Senior is good at.  Oh, and making wealthy friends.  Is there a job doing that?”

“Not that I know of,” said Gibbs.

“I didn’t think so,” said Tony glumly.  “I guess that means I really have to find a job that pays well.”

“Why?”

“’Cos I’ll probably be bailing him out for years,” said Tony pragmatically, “He is my Dad after all,”.

“Well, that Harvard degree will help,” said Gibbs.

“Actually, no,” said Tony.

“No?”

“No.  Seems that Senior was relying on the deal with Colin’s Dad to finance me at Harvard.  Now it’s fallen through, there’s no money.  Dad’s sold most of the books and paintings … can’t pay the mortgage on the house … it’s all over.”

“Damn,” said Gibbs as he realised the unexpected consequence of snooping on the DiNozzo household.

“It’s OK,” said Tony.  Gibbs spotted that the happy look that dawned on Tony’s face when sports were mentioned had arrived again.

“It is?”

“Yes.  Thanks to you.”

“Uh?”

“I remembered about OSU … and what you said about following a dream … and I decided to do that.  The offer was still open … well, it was once I’d turned on the charm.  So, I’m on my way to Columbus but I wanted to see you first.  To check about Senior and to say thank you.”

“For what?  Seems to me that you could blame me for your father being broke …” said Gibbs.

“Nobody’s to blame for Senior being broke than him,” said Tony with surprising firmness.  “And I wanted to thank you for saying doing phys-ed was OK and I wanted to thank you for …”

“For what?” prompted Gibbs again.

“For listening to me,” said Tony, “For noticing I was there.”

Gibbs felt a wave of pity for the lad who had been so desperate for company that he had latched on to the supposed artist.  And then Gibbs decided that there had been a genuine friendship between the two: if he hadn’t spotted something in Tony he would have been perfectly capable of shutting him out.  Maybe it was two lonely people reaching out to one another.

Gibbs didn’t say anything of this, but he stretched out his hand for Tony to shake.

“You did good, Tony,” said Gibbs, “You won’t end up in the gutter … and if you do, well, I’ll make sure you don’t stay there.  And let me know your address at Columbus – maybe I’ll take a drive out there sometime.”

“I’d like that,” said Tony.

“I’ll show you out,” said Gibbs.  As Tony stood, Gibbs slung an arm around his shoulder and, for a moment, Tony leaned into the embrace before pulling free when Gibbs ruffled his hair.

“Hey, don’t mess with the hair!” he said with a grin.

“Don’t whine,” groused Gibbs, “I’ll get you some of that gel stuff when I go to Sears tonight … they’ve got it on offer!”

Tony groaned in reply but the delighted smile on his face suggested he was looking forward to getting a parcel through the mail.

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning – this is definitely not canon … and definitely not to be taken seriously!

There had been an odd atmosphere at Tony DiNozzo’s 21st birthday party – a mixture of expectation and dread which had intensified as the evening wore on.  Tony wasn’t used to family gatherings and put the _unusual_ atmosphere down to the suspicion which existed between his British and American relations - and, if he was honest, down to the suspicion between his _American_ relations and his father.

Tony wasn’t drinking at the party: the only date which Senior said he could make happened to be the day before Tony was due to travel to Peoria for an interview about being accepted to the Police Academy.  Tony had matured enough to know that showing up for that interview smelling of alcohol would not be a good idea.  He squashed any idea that Senior was trying to sabotage the possibility of his son doing something as menial as becoming a police officer - which he probably equated with ending up in the ever-threatened gutter.  No, somehow, Tony thought that his father had simply forgotten that he had an important interview – he certainly hadn’t offered to pay any travel expenses.

Anyway, all that meant that Tony was the soberest person at his own party although he almost found himself giddy with the unusual situation of nearly all his blood relatives being in the same room at the same time.  Even if they did stay on opposite sides of the room.  Tony acted as go-between between the _opposing_ parties while Senior lurked in his own corner.

The British relations, tired through jet lag (or, at least, that was their excuse) left early.  Tony was sorry to see them go, thanked them profusely for coming and for their gifts: fortunately, some of the gifts were cash which meant that he could go to his interview in relative style.

The American relations, he was surprised to note, didn’t relax as much as he’d expected when the British took their well-mannered, cool departure.  The DiNozzos were, undoubtedly, pleased to see the back of the Brits but their air of tense expectation ratcheted up even more.

Nonna DiNozzo beckoned to her grandson with an imperious finger and Tony hurried over.

“ _Tesoro_ ,” she said, “My darling Tony … my handsome Tony … my …”  Tony found that his mind was wandering as his grandmother began a litany of loving words, “… tonight, we mark your coming of age …”

“Actually, Mamma,” said Tony’s Uncle Vincenzo, “In America, young men come of age when they are 18 …”

Nonna DiNozzo dismissed this with a contemptuous snap of her fingers and Uncle Vincenzo subsided, “As I was saying,” she continued, “Tonight we mark your coming of age – although,” and here she glared at her other son, “It is a pity that your father was not able to make the arrangements for the actual date.”

“Mother,” began Senior, “I tried but …”

This attempt at explanation was greeted with another snap of the fingers, “It does not matter,” she declared, “What matters is that we have all gathered.  And I can now give you …”  Tony sensed his relations leaning forward in anticipation, “The DiNozzo signet ring which is handed to the eldest DiNozzo grandson on the occasion of his coming of age,” she paused again to make sure nobody else was going to be foolhardy enough to challenge her.  She reached into her capacious purse and drew out a finely carved small wooden box, “Here,” she said.

Tony reached out a hand, but she didn’t let go immediately, “It is one of our most treasured possessions,” she said, “Look after it well.”  She directed a piercing look at Tony and then, apparently satisfied by what she saw, gave him the box.

Tony took the box and opened it to reveal a gold signet ring.

“It’s got a real diamond, Junior,” said Senior informatively.

Something like a _tut_ sounded from Nonna’s direction but she didn’t take her eyes off Tony who wasn’t sure of the correct response.

“Er, thank you, Nonna.  I-I will treasure it.”

Nonna nodded eagerly but said nothing.

Tony took the ring from the box and put it on his finger.  There was a collective intake of breath and Tony had the impression that everyone had taken a step back.

“It’s … lovely,” he said although he secretly thought it was a little flashy and he hoped he wouldn’t be expected to wear it.

Tony had heard of the word _susurration_ before but never quite known what it meant.  The release of the held breaths in the room gave him a clue.  The tension evaporated, and everyone made their way to the buffet table to see if there was any tiramisu left.

“Told you,” “Thought so,” were some of the words Tony heard as people moved away.  The party took off after that – or rather, Tony was informed later that it had.  Ironically, he had to be the next to leave his own party to make sure he was up in time to get to the interview.  Not for the first time, he had the impression of being the unlikely _responsible_ member of his family.

XXXXXX

Back in his cheap hotel room, Tony found that he was too wired to go to bed immediately so surveyed the cards and presents he had received and, was on the whole, satisfied.  He looked at the ring on his finger but decided that as Nonna was still whooping it up at the party she wouldn’t know if he took it off.  He paused to look once more at the box and admired its intricate design – made by a craftsman, he was sure.  He rubbed a gentle figure over the raised D.

A flash of light filled the room and a great rush of air threw him to the floor.

“W-W-What?” Tony said groggily a few seconds later.  He felt as if he’d just come off the football ground having played Michigan.  He rubbed his head, shook it – which was a mistake – and closed his eyes.  And then opened them quickly as he realised he was no longer alone.

“W-W-What?” he said again.

“That all you’ve got to say?” came the curt answer.

“W-W-Who?” said Tony by way of variation but still trying to come to grips with the situation.  He was greeted with an irritated sigh.

“I didn’t order room service,” said Tony.  He knew this was true; the hotel didn’t run to such niceties.

“Room service?”  There was something in the tone of voice which suggested annoyance.  Tony was beginning to wonder if it ever suggested anything else.

“Well, I locked the door.  And I thought you might be wearing a uniform …”

“Uniform?”  That tone of voice again.

“You know, green … top.  And those are some weird pants.”  Tony shouldn’t have been surprised at the tone of the response,

“Weird?”

Tony replayed what he had said in his head and realised it had not perhaps been tactful although he felt he had an excuse for being less than polite.  In addition, Tony had been well drilled in the respect due to … well, pretty much everyone so he knew he should apologise.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Look,” said Tony, “Would you mind not just repeating everything I say?  It’s not exactly getting us anywhere, is it?  And … and … well, I’m not at my best at the moment.  You know, what with being blinded and thrown to the ground.”

“Hmm,” the annoyance had moderated … slightly.  “You could get up from the floor.”

Tony considered this possibility.  Part of him recognised that it was an undignified position, but another part suspected he’d be thrown to the ground again, so it was a waste of energy to get up.

“I could help you … I guess.”

This was another possibility to consider.  Tony wasn’t sure why the person who had tossed him to the floor should want to help him get off it; there was also something in the tone (besides annoyance) which suggested the help was being offered under duress.

“I’m fine,” said Tony with his default answer.  “Took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“That’s … fine.”

Tony sat on the bed and wondered why he wasn’t making a run for the door: he didn’t think it was because it was unlikely that the hotel staff would help … or that he would be easily overpowered.  Something else was going on but Tony didn’t feel afraid.  Puzzled, bewildered but not afraid.

“Who are you?” he asked again.  “And what are you doing in my hotel room?”

For the first time, something like a smile crossed his visitor’s face.

“You called me,” he said.

“I did what?” squeaked Tony, “I mean, I did what?” he managed in a manlier tone.

“You summoned me,” the figure in green said.

“Summoned?” asked Tony – fortunately in a steady voice.

“Summoned … it means …”.

“I know what it means,” snapped Tony

Tony shook his head again, more carefully this time.  He was sure that he’d avoided the alcohol … but perhaps the tiramisu had been more potent than he’d thought: Nonna DiNozzo was renowned for a heavy hand with the Marsala.

“Look,” he said, “Let’s start again.  I’m Anthony DiNozzo Jr.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“Well, I knew you’re a DiNozzo.”

“How?”

“You summoned … called me.”

Tony shook his head, “Leave that for the moment.  What’s your name?”

“Jinn Leyora Jetorah Ghiv.”

“What?”

“Jinn Leyora Jetorah Ghiv.”

Perhaps, mused Tony, it had been the wine in the zabaglione.  He latched on to the last syllable of the name, “Gibbs?”

Jinn Leyora Jetorah Ghiv. delivered yet another hard stare but then shrugged, “If you want.”

Tony felt like saying nothing of this situation was what he _wanted_ but decided that horse had bolted and all he could do was lock the stable door … although that didn’t feel right either.

“OK,” he said, “Gibbs it is.”

_Gibbs_ responded with a curiously formal nod of the head.

“And who are you, Gibbs?” asked Tony, resisting the urge to ask _what_ he was.

“I told you,” said Gibbs.

“And what are you doing here?  And don’t say because I summoned you.”

Again, Gibbs gave the odd bow.

“It is the night of your attaining the age of majority,” said Gibbs.

“Well, actually it’s not,” said Tony.  “That was 2 weeks ago but tonight was the night of the party.”

Gibbs had looked momentarily shaken at the news that Tony hadn’t become 21 that day but resumed his customary stoicism at Tony’s explanation.

“And tonight, you received the DiNozzo heirloom.”

“What?  Oh, you mean the ring?”

“That is something which is handed down through the generations,” agreed Gibbs a little pedantically.

“Wait,” said Tony, as he thought back to the earlier conversations, “Did you say that you’re _Jinn_ gobbledegook Gibbs?”

“No,” said Gibbs, “I said I am Jinn Leyora Jetorah Ghiv.”

“Yes, yes,” said Tony in much the same way that Nonna DiNozzo had squashed her sons earlier in the evening, “You said Jinn.”

“Yes.”

“Jinn?  That’s a genie, isn’t it?”

Another look of annoyance flickered on Gibbs’ face, “I prefer Jinn to Genie,” he said stiffly.

“Why?”

“Genie sounds like a girl’s name,” said Gibbs.

A look of mischief dawned in Tony’s eyes but he simply stowed Gibbs’ aversion to the word genie away for future use.

“So you’re a ge-Jinn?”

“Yes.”

“D-D-did you come because I rubbed the ring?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Tony didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“ _Did_ you rub the ring?” asked Gibbs.

Tony thought back, “I don’t think so.  I put it on.”

“Why didn’t you rub it?”

“Well,” said Tony, “I-I, well, don’t tell my family …”

“I will not be speaking to your family,” said Gibbs firmly.

“Oh.  Well, OK, well, the truth is … that it’s a bit flashy,” Tony cringed a little as if he expected another bolt of lightning.

“Huh,” said Gibbs.

“Huh?  Is that it?” asked Tony who was relieved he hadn’t been thrown to the floor again but surprised at the lowkey response.

“What else did you want me to say?”

“Good point,” praised Tony.

Gibbs bowed his head again.

“So, you’re a Jinn …”  Gibbs nodded again.  “Like the one in Aladdin – you know, the 1992 Walt Disney cartoon?”

“No,” said Gibbs firmly.  “Not like that … at all!”

“Oh,” said Tony.  “But you wear the same pants … I can see now that they’re harem pants.  Hey, what’s it like in a harem?”  He encountered a cold stare and hurried on, “No, of course, that’s none of my business.  But still …”  Tony dragged himself away from harem fantasies and continued, “Although, if you don’t mind me saying so, those … diaphanous pants don’t really go with that green sweatshirt on top …”

Gibbs ran a hand down the sweatshirt, “It’s cold where I’ve been … waiting.”

“Huh,” said Tony understandingly, “And what’s that around your neck?”  He pointed to a heavy gold chain with an oblong charm hanging from it.  “Is that jade?”

Gibbs fingered the charm, “Yes.  It has my name on it.  It is the symbol of my membership of the Brotherhood of Jinn.”

“Like dog tags!” said Tony.

“I am not a dog,” said Gibbs stiffly.

“No, no,” said Tony hastily, “It’s what soldiers wear – to identify them.  They’re called dog tags.”

“I see,” said Gibbs who seemed to be mollified by this explanation.

“Wait a minute,” said Tony who found that he was continually playing catch-up, “ _Brotherhood_ of Jinn?  Aren’t there _lady_ Jinns?  There was a TV programme called _I dream of Jeanie_ – that had a lady Jinn in it.”

“I have seen that programme,” said Gibbs with a slight shudder, “And yes, there are female Jinn.  They are campaigning for a merger between the Sisterhood and the Brotherhood.”

“They are?”

“Yes.  They say that the campaign for equal rights has been successful and there is no longer a need for separate bodies.”

“Wow,” said Tony.

“Wow?”

“Yes, wow … it means …”

“I know what it means,” said Gibbs.  “I was asking why you said it.”

Tony shrugged, “To be honest, my mind is pretty much blown by all this.  _Wow_ seems to cover it.  Hey,” he asked in sudden suspicion, “Crispian didn’t put you up to this, did he?  You know, some elaborate joke?”

“Who is Crispian?”

“My cousin – from England.  I don’t think he likes me very much.  But he might just be jealous.”

“Why would he be jealous?”

“He’s got zits,” said Tony, “And I haven’t.”

“I see.”

“But I can’t see him going to all this trouble … and I think it’s more imaginative than anything he’d come up with.”

“It is not a joke,” said Gibbs with surprising gentleness.

“So, you’re really a Jinn – one with green silky harem pants, green sweatshirt, Brotherhood of Jinn dog tags … and hey, an emerald ear stud.  Do you have any other _piercings?”_

The blank stare Tony received told him that this was none of his business although that didn’t stop him from trying to see through the sweatshirt to Gibbs’ bellybutton.

“I am a Jinn,” said Gibbs.  “And I am here because you summoned me …” he seemed to sense Tony’s imminent denial, “… by rubbing the box in which the ring is contained.”

“The box!  Not the ring?”

“Yes.”  He was a genie … sorry, Jinn of few words.

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“Isn’t it more traditional for someone like you to be in a ring?”

“You have knowledge about Jinn?” asked Gibbs curiously.

“Well, no,” admitted Tony sheepishly, “It’s not something that was covered doing phys-ed at OSU.  I guess what I know comes from watching _Aladdin_ and _I dream of Jeanie_.”

“In other words, you know nothing,” said Gibbs brutally.

“I reckon I know the _principle_ ,” said Tony, who was getting tired of being scolded.

“Yes, that is true,” said Gibbs.

“You could apologise, you know,” said Tony a little sulkily.

“ _Apologise?”_

“Yes, you know … it means …”

“I know what it means.  The Brotherhood of Jinn has a rule against apologising.”

“It has?”  Gibbs nodded.  “Why?”

Gibbs looked uncomfortable.  “Over the years, Jinn have been asked to do things for their masters which have not turned out … as the masters hoped.  It is rarely the fault of the Jinn, so it was decided that we should not apologise for doing what we were told.”

“Fair enough,” said Tony.  “Wait a minute … did you say _masters_?”

Gibbs nodded.

“Then who are your masters … or more to the point, who is _your_ master?”

“It seems to be you,” said Gibbs.

“What!”

“You heard.”

“You know, I would have thought … not that I have _ever_ thought about this before, you understand … I would have thought that Jinn would be more respectful towards their masters.”

“Respect has to be earned,” said Gibbs firmly.

“It does?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.  Well, anyway, explain to me how this all works.  Hey, does everyone else in the family know about this?  Does _Senior_ know?”

Perhaps Gibbs had a Brotherhood of Jinn meeting to get to or perhaps he simply took pity on his new master, but he decided to explain.

“The ring … and its box … is handed to the eldest grandson in the DiNozzo family but they take an oath of secrecy …”

“I haven’t taken an oath,” objected Tony.

“Not yet,” said Gibbs with a hint of menace.

“Oh … does it hurt?” asked Tony anxiously.

“Not necessarily,” said Gibbs cryptically.

Tony swallowed, his fears were not allayed.  He waved for Gibbs to continue.

“The box is given to the young man who may, or may not, summon the attendant Jinn.”

“May or may not?” asked Tony tentatively.

“If the recipient is more interested in the ring than the box then the Jinn is not summoned.”

Something fell into place for Tony, “And I’m guessing Senior … my father … was more interested in the ring than the box?”

“Yes.”

“So, you weren’t summoned?”

“No.”

“And there was no need for a vow of secrecy?”

“No.”

“This evening … at the party … there was a weird atmosphere …”

“Yes?”

“As if something was about to happen … but nobody knew what.”

“The DiNozzo family know, in general terms, that the ring is important.  Family stories say that _something_ happens to the holder of the ring, but they do not know what.  That is probably why there was a sense of anticipation.”

“Did my grandfather summon you?” asked Tony.

“Yes, he did.  He liked the ring, but he was also interested in the box.”

“Why are you _connected_ to the box rather than the ring?” asked Tony.  “I mean, I know I know nothing about it, but I would have thought that a ring was more obvious.”

“You are right … to some degree.  When I was _assigned_ to the DiNozzo family it was decided that it would be prudent to link me to the carved box rather than a piece of expensive jewellery.”  Gibbs paused as if to see what Tony’s response would be.

“I get it,” said Tony, “You thought that someone who was attracted to jewellery might not be a good person to be given a Jinn.”

“Jinn are not _given_ ,” said Gibbs disapprovingly, “The Jinn Emancipation Act has put paid to that.  It was felt among the Jinn that once slavery had been abolished in the mortal world, it should be abolished among the Jinn as well.  But … you are right, the original intention was that someone who was attracted to the craftsmanship of the box would be a worthier master than someone attracted by the thought of wealth.”

Tony digested this, “But you still show up?  Even though the whole _master_ thing is over?  Why?”

“We still have a call to serve the holder of the box,” said Gibbs.

“And you’re going to serve me?” asked Tony.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Your grandfather summoned me but sent me away,” said Gibbs.

“Sent you away?  Why?”

“He was uneasy about _having_ a Jinn.”

“Why?”

“He said that he might misuse the power,” said Gibbs.  “He said he liked to succeed and was concerned that he might use me to succeed in a way that he would later regret.”

“Huh,” said Tony, “I’m guessing you told him about the rule on apologies?”

“Yes.”

“So he knew that he would still have to take responsibility for what happened … even if it didn’t turn out like he wanted and even if he didn’t _do_ it directly.”

Gibbs looked at Tony with interest, “That’s right.  How did you know?”

“Nonno used to talk about responsibility a lot,” said Tony.  “About power.  I could imagine him doing that.”

“And he was a contented man,” said Gibbs, “He said that all his happiness was bound up with his new wife … and he wanted to make sure it stayed that way.”

“What happens to you … if _I_ send you away?” asked Tony.

“I go,” said Gibbs.

“And don’t come back?”

“And don’t come back.  You cannot change your mind.”

“And where do you go?”

“Does it matter?”

“You said you were cold … is the _place_ you go _cold_?”

“It can be,” admitted Gibbs.

“And lonely?”

“I am still in contact with other Jinn,” said Gibbs, “But not in the same way.”

Perhaps Gibbs wasn’t on his way to a Brotherhood of Jinn meeting after all.

“How does it work?”

“I suppose the nearest you would understand would be that I can receive letters and _newspapers_.”

“Oh, that sounds dull.”

Gibbs shrugged, “Jinn are used to waiting and watching.  I am patient.”

“And if I didn’t send you away … what would you … we … do?”

“I can make things happen … or go away,” said Gibbs.

“And if you thought it was wrong to do those things … would you tell me?”

“I would try to explain what I could see the consequences would be.  But I do not have powers to predict the future.  I cannot tell you definitely what would happen.”

“And you wouldn’t apologise if it went wrong?”

“No.”

“What would _you_ like to do?”

“Excuse me?”

“If you had a choice, what would you do?”

“Jinn are not offered a choice,” said Gibbs.

“But you said you’ve been emancipated.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs, “That is true.  I have heard that modern Jinn enter more into a _partnership_ with their masters.  I think they use the word _collaboration._ ”

“And what do you think of that?  Working as a team?”

“A team?”

“We could make it a rule, if you like.”

“It’s a good rule.”

“And if you stayed … with me … would it mean you could meet up with your friends again?  Properly, I mean – not just by mail and reading the newspapers?”

“Yes.”

Tony took a deep breath, “This is probably crazy.  But I like the idea of having a _companion_ , someone to bounce ideas off.  You’ve met my Dad – you know he’s not much help but you ….”

“Well …”

“And I’m hoping to go into the police.  I reckon you’d be handy to have around.  What do you think?”

Gibbs sat down and suddenly looked weary, he rubbed his hand over his face, “It sounds OK,” he said temperately, “It would be good to meet up with the other Jinn properly.  And to see the world again.”

“Then you’ll do it?” said Tony.

“Are you sure you want it?” asked Gibbs.

“No,” said Tony, “I’m pretty sure it’s a crazy idea.”

“I can be grumpy,” warned Gibbs.

“There’s a surprise,” said Tony.

“And I might not always be around.  I like my own company.”

“No problem,” said Tony, “We can work up a schedule.  And I might not want _you_ around all the time either … if you know what I mean?”

“Anyone would know what you mean,” said Gibbs sternly.

“That’s good,” said Tony, determined not to be embarrassed, “’cos I wouldn’t want to think I had an audience when I’m entertaining a lady friend.”

“Don’t worry,” said Gibbs, “I won’t be watching.”

“Then we’ll do it,” said Tony.

“Very well, _Master_ ,” said Gibbs.

“Gibbs?” said Tony warningly, “You’ve been emancipated, remember!”

“Very well, _Tony_ ,” said Gibbs.

“All right then,” said Tony bracing himself, “We’d better get to it then.”

“To what?”

“The oath of secrecy.  Go gentle with me.”

“That was a joke,” admitted Gibbs.

“A joke?” said Tony as he realised there was a lot he had to learn about Jinn Gibbs.

“Who would believe you if you told anyone?” asked Gibbs, “Just give your word – that’s enough for me.”

XXXXXX

Early the next morning, with Jinn Gibbs off playing hooky, Tony was surprised to get a visit from his Great Uncle Clive.

“Anthony, dear boy,” he said, “I have brought you something.  It was not appropriate to give it to you last night, but it is a Paddington heirloom that now comes to you.”

Tony was still sleepy after a late night of discussions with Gibbs so took the package without thinking.

“Thanks, Uncle Clive,” he said.  He tore the wrapping off and revealed an old box.  “It’s beautiful,” he said.

“It’s a tea caddy,” said Clive, “Brought back from India by one of my ancestors in the eighteenth century.”

“Wow,” said Tony.  He looked at his uncle and saw a look of anticipation on his face.  He rubbed a gentle finger over the carving of a bird on the top of the box.  Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when there was a flash of light and he was pushed to the floor by a gust of wind.

“Good morning,” came a cheerful voice, “I am Jinn Donaddal ab Maddal of the tea caddy, but you can call me Ducky - although the depiction of a bird on the caddy is not actually that of a duck but of a Ketupa zeylonensis which is more commonly known as a Brown Fish Owl.  And I should also say that although some people prefer the usage of _genie …_ ”

Tony lay on the floor and wondered what the protocol was for having _two_ Jinn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a plan to write another encounter but with Tony as genie and Gibbs as ‘owner’.


	24. Chapter 24

Jethro Gibbs rubbed the back of his neck as he walked through his front door.  Somehow, he felt as if someone was watching him, but he knew that was impossible: he was too experienced a NCIS agent to allow someone to sneak up on him.  Nevertheless, he had had the same feeling ever since his visit to the vintage tool stall at the flea market.  He shook his head and decided he needed to soothe himself with a slug of bourbon and an hour or two sanding his boat.

Gibbs always left his front door unlocked but he’d never been surprised by someone intruding.  If someone was foolhardy enough to ‘break in’, he could always sense their presence – there was usually something in the air that signalled an alien presence.  So, despite, the prickling at the back of his neck, Gibbs went down serenely enough to his basement.

For once, however, his _spidey_ senses had failed him.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded as he spotted a tall young man standing by the nearly completed boat.  “And what are you doing here?”

The young man chose to answer the second question first, “I brought you a mug of coffee, Sir.”

“Don’t call me _Sir_ ,” said Gibbs automatically, “I work for a living.”

The visitor’s brows momentarily wrinkled as he considered this, “I brought you a mug of coffee …” he trailed off, apparently discontented at not being able to provide a title.

“Why?”

“You like coffee, don’t you?” came the anxious but surprised reply.

“Yes,” said Gibbs, “But that’s not the point.  I didn’t ask you in here.  And I certainly didn’t ask you to bring me drinks!”

The young man canted his head to one side, “But wouldn’t you like to try it?” he said.  He waved it in Gibbs’ direction and a delicious aroma of freshly ground strong coffee wafted towards Gibbs’ nostrils.

“No!  I wouldn’t,” said Gibbs.  “I don’t take drinks from people who break into my house.”

“Do many such people offer you drinks?” asked the young man curiously.

Gibbs recognised an attempt to take him off track, “Don’t change the subject.”

“I didn’t!  It was you who brought up …”

“Who are you?  And what are you doing here?” demanded Gibbs again.

The visitor sighed, “I am Antonio of the Nose.”

“Of the Nose?” queried Gibbs.

Antonio rubbed his nose ruefully, “In my … country … we are often named for some distinguishing feature.  In my family’s case, it was the nose.”

“OK,” said Gibbs, deciding not to pursue this either, “And what are you doing here?”

Antonio considered his answer, “Do you believe in Jinn … or you might prefer the word Genie?” he asked.

“No,” said Gibbs briskly.

“Oh,” said Antonio.  “Then this may be hard for you to understand.”

“Try me,” ordered Gibbs.

“You’ve just returned from the Thomas Tool Stall, haven’t you?”

“You been following me?” demanded Gibbs, wondering if he was slipping.

“In a way,” said Antonio.

“What does that mean?”

“You purchased a chisel?”  Gibbs nodded.  “And a tatty tool box.”  Gibbs nodded again.  “Well,” said Antonio, “I wonder … would you prefer to sit down?”

“Why?”

“In case you are shocked,” said Antonio considerately.

“I’m pretty tough,” said Gibbs, “I can look after myself.”

“Of course,” said Antonio.  “I am the Jinn of the tool box.  When you stroked the top of the box and then decided to buy it … then, at the same time, in a manner of speaking, you bought me as well.”  Antonio hopped on to the work bench and sat down to watch the effect of his statement.

Gibbs’ jaw did momentarily drop but he recovered quickly, and he huffed a laugh.

“All right,” he said, “I don’t what you’re doing here.  You don’t look as if you’ve escaped from a lunatic asylum so why don’t you just go, and we’ll forget about this.”

Antonio didn’t move and there was something sad in his expression.  “I can’t go,” he said, “Or not yet, anyway.”

“You’ll go if I tell you to,” said Gibbs strongly.

“Perhaps,” said Tony serenely.  “How are you going to get your boat out of the basement?”

“None of your business,” said Gibbs curtly.  “Now get out!  Before I throw you out or have you arrested.”

“No,” said Antonio.  “I can see you don’t believe me.  And I would have been surprised if you had.  Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”

Before Gibbs could do or say anything, Antonio waved his hand and a ball of fire swept over the boat.

“What the hell!” shouted Gibbs even as he ran to the wall to grab the fire extinguisher.  When he ran back to put the fire out he saw to his amazement that there was no fire … and no boat.  Antonio was still sitting placidly on the work bench; he smiled a somewhat triumphant smile.

“What did you do?” demanded Gibbs.  “You’ve destroyed my boat, you idiot!”

“No,” said Tony calmly.  He jumped down from the bench and, with head bowed, held out an object to Gibbs.  Almost without thinking, Gibbs took the object and then gasped as he realised he was holding a perfect replica of his boat nestling inside a glass bottle.

“What?” he gasped.

“It will now be easy for you to get the boat out of the basement,” said Tony cheerfully, “Once you take it to the water, I can restore it to full size.”

“What?” said Gibbs in total bewilderment.

“Perhaps you would like the coffee now?” said Antonio kindly.  “You’ll find it is very good.”

In a daze, Gibbs took the coffee and took a gulp.  He couldn’t help but notice that it was at a perfect drinking temperature and was just as he liked it.

“You probably want to be alone,” said Antonio.  “I will go upstairs and wait.”  He bowed and almost seemed to glide up the stairs leaving a bemused Gibbs drinking his coffee with one hand and holding his ship in a bottle in the other.

XXXXXX

Gibbs was a practical and pragmatic person who didn’t necessarily need to understand everything around him.  It was in this spirit that he accepted that Antonio was, somehow, the Jinn of the toolbox and that he was here to stay.

“How does this work?” he asked Antonio the next day.

“Excuse me?”

“What do you do?”

“Whatever you ask of me,” said Antonio promptly.

“For how long?”  He sensed that Antonio didn’t understand that question either, “Days, weeks, months, years?”

“Normally a Jinn serves his master until the master dies,” said Antonio.

“Oh,” said Gibbs.  He used his investigative skills, “Does that mean your former … master … has died?”

A sad look crossed the Jinn’s face, “Yes, Master James’ funeral was last week.  He had already arranged for Mr Thomas to take the tools away once he passed.”

“But Thomas didn’t become your _master_?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Antonio considered this, “I’m not sure.  I think ownership passes when someone appreciates the artefact to which the Jinn is tied.  It is a way of protecting the Jinn.”

“How so?”

“It means that the Jinn is tied to a master who shares some of the same tastes as the Jinn.”

“You like wood working?” said Gibbs sceptically.

The brow wrinkled, “No … at least, I don’t know.  But I enjoy art and creation.  That is near enough.”

“So, you and I are tied?” said Gibbs, still not sure if this what he wanted.

“Yes, Master,” bowed Antonio.

“Don’t call me Master,” ordered Gibbs.

“Then what should I call you?” asked Antonio, “I must show some respect.”

“You can call me Gibbs.”

“ _Gibbs?”_ said Antonio unhappily.

“Or _Boss_ ,” relented Gibbs, “That’s what my team call me at work.”

“ _Boss_ ,” said Tony, “Boss,” he seemed to roll the word on his tongue, “Yes, that would be good, _Boss._ ”

“And I’m going to call you _Tony_ ,” said Gibbs firmly, “Antonio is too long.”

A look of delight dawned on _Tony_ ’s face.  “A nickname!  Great!”

Gibbs wanted to tell him not to set any store on the shortened name, that it was just a matter of convenience but the look on the Jinn’s face was so like the look on Kelly’s face when she thought that he had said something wonderful that he couldn’t bear to pop the small balloon of happiness.

“OK,” said Gibbs, “I’m going to work now.  You stay here.”

“But I could come with you,” said Tony.

“No.  No Jinn at work.  Legal are on to me all the time for not following protocol.  How would I explain you to them?”

Tony subsided sadly, “I could think of a way,” he offered.

“No.”

“I can clean the house while you’re gone,” he said.

“No.  I like it the way it is.”

“You do?” said Tony dubiously as he cast an eye round the living room.  “You do,” he confirmed.  “Then I can cook you a meal for your return.”

“No.  I don’t know when I’ll be back,” said Gibbs.

Tony stared at his master; Gibbs suspected that Tony would always know when he would be back but decided he didn’t want to know how that worked either.

“I’ll see you later,” said Gibbs before walking out.

XXXXXX

Over the next few days, Gibbs felt he and _Tony_ had settled in well.  He allowed Tony to cook under his direction: Gibbs was unsure why he didn’t want Tony to use his _powers,_ but he insisted that they weren’t used.  Following their simple meal together, if Gibbs was home in time, he would repair to the basement.  After a couple of evenings, Tony followed him down and Gibbs found himself talking about any current cases and then handing Tony a sanding block and showing him how to use it; Tony smiled as he planed the wood and seemed to be happy.

Tony read through Gibbs’ supply of books and, two weeks after he had arrived, Gibbs discovered a new pile of books.

“Where did these come from?” he asked.

“Oh,” said Tony innocently, “They’re for my course.”

“Course?”

“I’ve enrolled on an on-line course.  Criminology.”

“Criminology?  Is there a lot of crime among you people?”

“No,” said Tony coolly, “But there seems to be among you people.”

“Oh,” said Gibbs, this was undeniable.  “But why are you interested?”

“I thought it might be useful,” said Tony a little stiffly, “You know, when you’re talking about your cases.”

Gibbs thought about telling him that he didn’t go in much for _theories,_ but he was growing fond of his Jinn so refrained.  There was something else on his mind, “How did you register?” he asked, “Don’t you have to show ID and stuff like that?”

Tony’s eyes flickered momentarily, “There are ways,” he said mysteriously.  “Nothing illegal,” he added hastily.

Gibbs wondered if Tony would know what was illegal, but he was slightly unnerved by that flicker so decided not to probe.  The timer on the oven pinged at that moment indicating that their meal was ready, so conversation was deferred in favour of eating.

All in all, Gibbs was in a contented frame of mind when he returned home the following day; he had browbeaten Legal and outfoxed Fornell, so all was well in Gibbsland.  He had just gone to search for Tony when there was a knock at his front door.  Opening the door was one of the tasks Gibbs reserved for himself so he went to see who the visitor was.  A tall middle-aged brunette stood at the door, Gibbs wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d had a collection tin or a petition in her hand.  She directed a cool stare at Gibbs,

“Good afternoon,” she said politely, “Are you the master of the house?”

“No,” said Gibbs, and shut the door.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he returned to his search for Tony but stopped short when he saw someone sitting on his couch.

“Your couch is lumpy,” declared the woman he had denied entry to.

“W-What?” asked Gibbs, momentarily at a loss.  “How did you get in here?”

“I hardly think that is important, Master Gibbs.”

“And what is important?” asked Gibbs who found himself fascinated against his will.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Dolores Bromstead.  I work for the United Lodges of Jinn.”

“You do?” asked Gibbs faintly … although not as faintly as he would have before meeting Tony.

“I do.  I am the Registrar of NJAs – New Jinn Associations.”

“What?”

“I’m sure you heard me, Master Gibbs,” said Dolores severely, “I oversee new bonds between Masters and Jinn.  It is important to ensure that the welfare of both parties is upheld,” she paused, “Although, I must say that you look to be in robust health, Master Gibbs.”

Gibbs shook his head, “Dolores Bromstead doesn’t sound much like a _Jinn_ name,” commented Gibbs.

“It isn’t,” agreed Dolores, “I am not a Jinn myself, but my family has always had close associations with the Jinn and when it was decided that their living conditions and welfare should be monitored I agreed to help.”

“But you … got to the couch without me seeing you,” protested Gibbs.

“Ah,” said Dolores, with something like a simper, “I have learned some basic _power_ moves.  It is useful in my line of work.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  “Anyway, what do you want with me?”

“Not just you, Master Gibbs but with Jinn Antonio too.  I want to make sure that you are both settling in well and that the terms of the agreement are being met.”

“Agreement?” asked Gibbs.  “What agreement?”

Dolores tutted.  Gibbs stared at her; it was unusual for Gibbs to be tutted at.

“You see, this is why my office has to get involved,” she said testily, “The proper procedures are not adhered to and it just leads to problems in the end.”

“I didn’t know anything about an agreement,” said Gibbs.

Dolores directed a level stare at Gibbs but refrained from tutting.  She made a beckoning gesture with her hand and Tony came down the stairs.  Gibbs looked at Tony and Dolores and wondered how Tony had known he was being summoned.

“Mistress Bromstead,” said Tony.

“Jinn Antonio,” she replied.

They drew close and touched foreheads together in a formal but somehow intimate gesture.

“What are you doing here?” asked Tony.

The severe look Dolores directed at the Jinn was somehow softer than those she had been firing at Gibbs, “Come now,” she said, “You must have known I’d be here.”

Tony shuffled uncomfortably, “I thought you might not,” he offered, “After all, this isn’t my first Master … I mean, Boss.”

“Indeed, and I was sorry to learn of your loss, Antonio.”  She touched her heart in a gesture of solidarity and Tony bowed his head in acknowledgement.  Gibbs thought a little guiltily that he had forgotten that Tony had suffered a bereavement, but he had always seemed serenely content.  “But,” continued Dolores, “This _association_ was formed after the Lodges passed new regulation concerning monitoring of Jinn and human welfare.  I had to come.”

“I suppose,” said Tony a little sulkily.

“And from what Master Gibbs has told me, he was unaware of the existence of an agreement,” said Dolores.

Tony looked unconvincingly nonchalant, “I was getting to it,” he said defensively.  “And Boss is not much for paperwork.”

“I understand,” said Dolores, “But it is important.  I will leave a copy here.  Along with the manual.”

“Manual?” said Gibbs.  “There’s a _manual_?”

The severe look was back on Dolores’ face.  “Of course, there’s a manual.  Do you know how to care for a Jinn?”

“Care for?” said Gibbs blankly, “He’s fine!  I’m not mistreating him!  Am I, Tony?”

The reply wasn’t quite as quick as Gibbs would have wanted, “No, Boss.  I’m fine,” said Tony with the barest hint of a whine.

“See!” said Gibbs, “He’s fine.  We’re getting on … fine.”

“Well,” said Dolores, “I think Antonio is looking a little faded but that may be just a result of his recent loss and the adjustment to a new Master.  I won’t make any formal report on the matter … yet.  We will see how things have progressed when I visit next.”

“You’re coming again?” asked Gibbs inhospitably.

“Certainly,” said Dolores coolly, “Pastoral visits are required each week for the first month of the NJA; each month thereafter until it is decided that all is well.  After that annual visits are considered an acceptable minimum.”

“But it’s more than a week since Tony arrived,” protested Gibbs.

“Yes,” a fond but scolding look was directed at Tony, “Antonio did not notify us of the new association immediately.  I came directly I was aware of it.”

Tony bowed his head sheepishly.

“Very well,” said Dolores briskly, “I must go.  I have other NJAs to assess.”

“You do?” asked Gibbs a little faintly.

“Indeed.”

“Are there many _NJAs_ in DC?”

“There is only one other but there are 132 on the East Coast of America.  I cover a wide territory, Master Gibbs.”

Gibbs wanted to know how she managed but, remembering how she had seemed to transport to his couch, decided he could guess.

“I will see you in one week’s time,” she announced.  “Please make sure the agreement has been signed by then and that you have read the manual, Master Gibbs.”  With that, she and Tony touched foreheads again and then she was gone.

Gibbs recovered quickly, “There’s an agreement?” he asked.

“It’s very simple,” said Tony, “It’s just agreeing to mutual respect and consideration.”

“Huh, well that doesn’t sound too bad,” said Gibbs.  “Hand it over.”

Tony hurried over with the agreement which was written in illuminated script on thick parchment.  The colours seemed to glow and shimmer as Gibbs looked at it.  It was, as Tony had said, a simple agreement to respect and be considerate of the other party’s needs and wishes.  Gibbs stared at it, almost wishing he had a lawyer to cast an eye over it but somehow, he couldn’t imagine being able to ask any of the lawyers he knew to give an opinion.  He reached for a pen only to find that Tony was holding one out to him.  Gibbs grunted,

“You don’t need to do that,” he said as he signed the contract.

Tony nodded and then took the pen back to put his own signature.  Gibbs watched in fascination, it seemed that Tony’s name was much longer than he had previously indicated: his signature flowed over two lines.  As soon as it was completed the parchment flew out of Tony’s hands, circled the room twice and then shot up through the chimney.

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  “And what about the manual.  No, it’s OK, I’ve got it,” he said before Tony could get it.

The manual wasn’t made of parchment but was written on beautiful thick cream paper in a flowing italic hand.  There were a few pictures of dragons, unicorns and peacocks and most of the buildings appeared to be castles.  Gibbs riffled through the pages and then looked at Tony.

“It is an old document,” said Tony apologetically, “It could probably do with updating.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs, throwing it on to the couch.  “Do you need to read it?” he asked.

“No, Boss.  It is a manual for Masters.  Jinn already know what they should do.”

Gibbs thought about NCIS Sensitivity Seminars, “You mean you don’t have to go to Seminars about it?”

A troubled look passed over Tony’s face and he leaned forward in a confidential manner, “We are supposed to go on regular refresher courses,” he admitted, “But so far, I have always been busy on those days!”

Gibbs grinned as he recognised a Jinn after his own heart.

XXXXXX

Five days passed in which Gibbs and Tony continued their placid routine.  Occasionally, Gibbs worried about Delores’ comment about Tony looking faded and thought he looked paler than before but decided that this was probably partly because of the amount of studying he was doing.  He resolved to take him out to the cabin at the weekend and get him some fresh air – although he wasn’t sure that Jinn needed fresh air.

With the slight worry about Tony in mind, Gibbs finished work early and, having dropped his car off at the garage for its service, walked home.  He walked in through the front door and stopped in surprise when he saw his Jinn lying on the couch.

At work, Gibbs was highly observant, but he realised that, up to now, he couldn’t have described what Tony wore.  If pressed, he would have suggested jeans and some non-descript sweater but that day, Tony was definitely not wearing anything _non-descript._

Gibbs’ mouth fell open as he saw that Tony was wearing greeny-gray harem pants … and little else, although he spotted gold bangles around wrists and ankles.

Tony heard Gibbs’ gasp of astonishment and looked up in shock at being taken unawares.  In an instant Gibbs felt a ripple of power flow through the room and then saw that Tony was clothed in his usual jeans and sweater.

“Tony?” he said.  “What’s going on?”

“Boss, I didn’t hear you coming,” said Tony with a puzzled frown.

“Not what I asked,” said Gibbs sternly, “Why were you dressed like that?”

“Sometimes I like to remember that I’m a Jinn,” said Tony, “So I dress like one.”

“Why don’t you dress like that all the time?”

There was a twinkle in Tony’s eye, “Somehow I think you prefer something more lowkey.”

Gibbs couldn’t help but agree with that but there was something else on his mind, “What do you mean, about remembering you’re a Jinn?”

Before Tony could answer, there was an imperious knock at the door.  Gibbs went to answer it,

“It’s not been a week,” he protested when he saw Dolores standing there.

She swept past him, “If you’d read the manual you would know that I am authorised to inspect at any time,” she said.

Once again, she and Tony did their ritual greeting and then she sat on the couch.

“It is polite to offer refreshments to visitors,” she said.

Gibbs wanted to query the _politeness_ of barging in without being asked but decided it was a battle he wouldn’t win.

“Of course,” said Tony, “I will go and prepare them.”

Gibbs looked at him suspiciously and Tony nodded.  It was a few minutes before he returned with tea for Dolores and coffee for Gibbs and himself.  Dolores took a sip of her beverage and then frowned,

“Did you make this, Antonio?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress Dolores.”

She sipped again, “I mean, did you _make_ this?”

Tony dipped his head, “Master … I mean, Boss does not want me to use my powers.”

“What!” exclaimed Dolores.  She turned to Gibbs, “Is this true?”

“I managed perfectly well before Tony … came along.  I don’t want him using his powers to help me,” said Gibbs defensively.

“Antonio,” said Dolores firmly, “Please make me a cup of tea.  And supply your Master with a fresh cup of whatever noxious brew he prefers,” she turned to Gibbs and asked belatedly and perfunctorily, “With your permission, of course.”

Gibbs nodded, wondering why he was so often at the mercy of strong women.  He didn’t have long to wonder as a second later, he and Dolores were holding fresh drinks and he had experienced that odd pulse of power once more.

“That is much better,” said Dolores as she took a sip.  “Master Gibbs?”

Gibbs decided he knew which battles to fight and that this wasn’t one of them, so he took a sip of his coffee and felt a wave of satisfaction.

“Quite,” said Dolores briskly as she correctly interpreted the look on his face, “I find that beverages prepared by Jinn _properly_ have a certain _zing._   Don’t you agree, Master Gibbs?”

“I guess,” said Gibbs.

Dolores huffed with annoyance, “Am I understand that you have prohibited Antonio from using his powers?”

“Hey …” began Gibbs.

“Didn’t you read the manual?”

“Well …”

“Or read the agreement that you signed?”  As she spoke, the agreement whizzed down the chimney, circled the room twice before dropping gently into her lap.  “Yes, you agreed to _mutual respect and consideration_.  Mutual respect and consideration, Master Gibbs.  Do you really think that denying Antonio the opportunity to be a Jinn was being respectful and considerate?  Well, do you?”

“Tony doesn’t mind,” protested Gibbs.

“Good grief!” said Dolores impatiently.  “The manual makes it abundantly clear that a Jinn needs to be allowed to be a Jinn.  Well, look at him!”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“Look how pale he is,” said Dolores.  “Didn’t you notice?”

“I guess …” admitted Gibbs, “But you said it was probably down to a change of Master … I was going to take him to my cabin this weekend.”

“You were?” said Tony in a pleased voice.

“Did you read the manual?” asked Dolores sternly.

“Well … no,” admitted Gibbs.  “I looked at it quickly, but it had pictures of dragons and unicorns and stuff like that.  I didn’t think it was relevant to life in DC today.”

Dolores softened a little, “I have been asking the publishing department to update their procedures, but they have been reluctant.  I will ask them more forcefully.”  Gibbs felt a momentary flash of sympathy for the unknown publishers.  “But surely Antonio told you,” she continued.

“Told me what?” asked Gibbs in genuine bewilderment.

“That, for a Jinn, using their powers to assist their master, is essential to their well-being.  We don’t understand exactly how but use of power generates more power and keeps the Jinn healthy and active.  Without it …”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“They fade,” said Dolores, “As I can see that Antonio is beginning to.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” demanded Gibbs of Tony.

“The purpose of a Jinn is to please the Master,” said Tony, “I didn’t want to displease you.  And I thought …”

“What did you think?” asked Gibbs.

“I used my power during the day …”

“What?”

“I cleaned the house … and then dirtied it again.  I painted it pink once and then restored it.  Stuff like that.  I thought that might be enough,” said Tony forlornly.

“I fear it would not be,” said Dolores gently, “You were not using the powers to assist your Master, so the power used would drain you rather than invigorate you.”

“Oh,” said Tony.

Dolores stood to go, “I can see that there has been some misunderstanding.  I suggest that you read the manual, Master Gibbs and then see if you are willing to come to an accommodation with Antonio.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then we may have to take action to sever the attachment.  I will leave you now and return after the weekend to see what has been decided.  Antonio, a word, if you please.”  She and Tony went and conferred in the front yard and then she left.

“You should have said something, Tony,” said Gibbs when he returned to the house.

“Jinn want to please their Masters,” said Tony again.  “And I knew you were uneasy about me being here …”

“Is that why you dressed like that?” asked Gibbs pointing to the jeans and sweater.

“Partly,” said Tony, “But actually, I prefer these.  Harem pants aren’t all that practical in a DC winter!”

“OK,” said Gibbs, “But I didn’t want to make you get sick.”

“Dolores exaggerates,” said Tony.

“Maybe,” said Gibbs.  “What did she want to talk to you about just now.”

“She had a suggestion.  She had already been thinking about it.”

“Go on.”

“She says that she could do with some help in her NJA visits … and the other welfare visits to Jinn and their Masters.”

“Yes?”

“And that she thinks I would be good at it.  I do like meeting other Jinn …” Tony sighed.  “And I have had thirteen Masters so I am experienced in what it is like to establish a new association … and dealing with loss.”

“You’ve lost thirteen Masters?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”  As Gibbs thought about it, he considered that might be why Tony’s eyes, while sparkling, were also full of depth and feeling.

“Dolores feels that I could be of help.  And I would like to do it,” said Tony.

“And what would that mean?” asked Gibbs.  “Would you become linked to Dolores instead of me?”

“If that is what you wish,” said Tony.  “You could give her the tool box and we would perform a rite of renunciation.”

“And if you stayed here, with me?” asked Gibbs.  “Would you still do the work for her?”

“If you wish.  But you would probably have to allow me to use my power to benefit you occasionally.  We could work out the minimum requirement.  And I might not always be around … but you could summon me by touching the tool box.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs, “Well, it sounds simpler if you go with Dolores and we do this renunciation thingy.  Then you can do what’s best for you … and everything goes back to normal.”

“As you wish,” said Tony emotionlessly.

XXXXXX

Gibbs spent a couple of hours alone in the basement before emerging holding the tool box.

Tony was seemingly engrossed in an episode of Magnum on TV, but he was immediately aware of Gibbs’ arrival.  His eyes narrowed slightly as he saw what Gibbs was holding; there was the usual wave of power and he was once more dressed in his Jinn clothes.

“I understand,” he said.  “I will tell Dolores.”

“Tell her what?” asked Gibbs.

“That we wish to undergo a renunciation rite.”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do,” said Gibbs.

“It is what you want,” said a confused Tony gesturing towards the box.  “You have brought the box with you.”

“I’ve got a rule against assumptions,” said Gibbs, “Look again,” and he opened the lid of the box.

Tony leaned forward, “You have repaired it,” he gasped, “And polished it!  It looks beautiful!”

“Figured it needed looking after,” said Gibbs awkwardly.

“Yes?”

“We can still do the renunciation thing if you want.  But if you want to stay … well, I reckon we could work something out.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I think the job idea is a good one.  You don’t need to be under my feet all the time … but those powers of yours … well, I don’t like waste.  And you make a mean cup of coffee – _and_ we’ve still got that damn boat in a bottle to sort out.  What do you say?  Do you want to give it another go?”

For answer, there were two pulses of power.  One re-clothed Tony in his jeans and sweater, and the other provided Gibbs with a perfect mug of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I think I’m done with Jinn now!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people may need a tissue ...

 “Anyone sitting there?”

“Just my invisible friend.”

“What?”

“D’you see anyone sitting there?”

“No … but I was …”

“Damn it, sit down before you fall down!”

Tony sat down on the park bench.  He felt he should have had a better comeback to his brusque fellow occupant of the seat, but all his energies were currently being used to keep upright.  “Thanks,” he said.

“You OK?” asked his companion, noticing the other man’s pallor.

“Yes.  Or rather no, but I will be.  First day out today.”

“Ever?” came the amused reply.

“Feels like it,” said Tony, “I bust my leg a few weeks ago and cracked my skull.  I made it to just one crutch yesterday, so I could come out.”

“Huh.”

“I’m Tony by the way.  Tony DiNozzo.”

“Gibbs, Jethro Gibbs.”

“Pleased to meet you … Gibbs,” said Tony.  Somehow, he felt that _Jethro_ would be too informal at the moment.

Gibbs nodded, “Dogs seem to be getting on,” he pointed to the patch of grass in front of them where an elderly Labrador Retriever was being tugged at by a German Shepherd puppy.  As they watched, the puppy seized the older dog’s ear and was then cuffed across the head for its troubles.

“Oops,” said Tony, “Sorry.”

Gibbs shrugged, “They’re all right.  I’m guessing that’s why you had to wait until you could walk with just one crutch before you came out?”

“Yeah.  She wouldn’t have understood it if I’d left her behind,” said Tony.  “She was getting as stir-crazy as me, but I needed a hand free for the lead!”

Gibbs nodded again.  If Tony had been shut up indoors for some time it made sense that he was willing to talk to anyone he met.

The two watched their dogs wrestle and play, although truth to tell, it was the puppy who was playing while the Labrador mostly put up with it, occasionally delivering a warning bark or headbutt.

“I never realised how good the sun felt,” said Tony, closing his eyes and lifting his face to the sun.  “And the smell of grass … Sorry, I’m rambling.  Guess the cabin fever was worse than I realised!”

“You’re all right,” said Gibbs, “Been there, done that … well, perhaps not so much with the chattering … but I know how you feel.”

“Thanks,” said Tony, “Although the people who know me would probably tell you that I don’t need to be suffering from cabin fever to talk people to death.  It’s sort of a habit.  Tell me to shut up if you want to.”

“Would it work?” asked Gibbs curiously.

Tony thought about this, “Might do.  Might not … or it might for a few moments but then I’d forget.”

Gibbs shrugged, “I can always get up and go if I don’t like it,” he pointed out calmly.

Tony grinned and closed his eyes again and sniffed once more.  A contented but arrested look showed on his face and he opened his eyes to look in the direction of the aroma he had just caught.  His face fell when he saw that the coffee shop was about 100 yards away, beyond his reach.  He sighed.

Gibbs had smelled the same smell and saw Tony’s resigned look, “You want a coffee?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine,” said Tony unconvincingly.

“Hey, the people who know _me_ would probably tell you that it’s dangerous for me to be without regular supplies of caffeine.  I’m going to get one for myself – you want one?”

“Yes, please,” said Tony.  “Cappuccino.”

“Sugar?”

“Three, please.  Here, I’ve got the money.”

“Later,” said Gibbs, “Keep an eye on Nell for me.”

“Nell?”

“My dog.”

“Oh, yes – I should have worked that out.  I think she’s pretty much wrapped up with Flora at the moment.”

Gibbs nodded his agreement; the dogs had calmed down now and were lying in a contented canine cuddle.

A few minutes later, Gibbs and Tony were sitting with their drinks in a companionable silence.  Uncharacteristically, Gibbs broke the silence,

“How long are you going to be on that crutch?”

Tony frowned, “A few weeks.  The doc says it might not ever get back to full strength …”

“Huh,” said Gibbs sympathetically.

“But it probably will,” said Tony, “They’re just being cautious.  And I haven’t been fired, so that’s a good sign.”

“Why would you be fired?”

“I’m an FBI agent, work in the field.  Not much call for field agents who can only walk like a crippled crab and can’t run after the bad guys,” said Tony with an attempt at lightness.

“I guess,” said Gibbs.  “But there’d be other work you could do, wouldn’t there?”

“Don’t know,” said Tony, “Seeing as I didn’t work out that Nell was your dog’s name, I’d say that my investigative skills are a bit suspect at the moment.”

“You’ll get there,” said Gibbs.

“I hope so,” said Tony.  “Don’t think I’d be good behind a desk.”

For a moment, it looked as if Gibbs was going to say something, but he took a swallow of coffee instead and silence resumed.

“You need a hand up?” asked Gibbs as Tony seized his crutch in preparation for leaving.

“No.  But if you could grab Flo’s lead that would be great,” said Tony as he manoeuvred his way to his feet.

Gibbs obligingly picked up the lead, waited till Tony was steady on his feet and then handed it to him.

“Come on, Flo,” said Tony, “Time to leave your new friend.”

Nell whined when she saw that Flora was going and Flora nudged her gently in farewell.

“Might see you again, Gibbs,” said Tony.

“I’m here most days.”

Tony nodded and limped off with Flora going at his pace.  Gibbs turned to the puppy,

“Want to play fetch?” he asked.

XXXXXX

It was no surprise to either Gibbs or Tony that they met on the same bench at the same time the next day although they didn’t greet one another as effusively as their dogs did.

“How old is Flo?” asked Gibbs.

“14,” said Tony.

“Ah,” said Gibbs as he understood the reason for the sadness in Tony’s voice.  14 was a good age for a Labrador and Flo looked her age.

“She’s OK though,” said Tony, “She’s slow but she’s happy.  The vet says I’ll know when it’s time to let her go.”

“You had her long?”

“Since she was a pup.  She moved with me to three police forces and then to the FBI.  I guess it’s not the most sensible thing to have done but I’ve always found people to look after her while I’m working.”

“A dog’s a good friend,” agreed Gibbs.

“This’ll sound stupid …”

“Maybe … maybe not,” said Gibbs agreeably.

“… but I think Flo kept me going when I was out of action.  Seeing her want me to get better, seeing her want me to take her for a walk – well, it made me want to get better even when things got pretty dark.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid,” said Gibbs.

“And I don’t think I could have managed with a puppy.  Flo kept me going, she’s a gentle lady, I think we’ve got the same energy levels but a pup like Nell would have worn me out.”

“She does a pretty good job at wearing _me_ out,” said Gibbs ruefully.

Almost without Tony noticing it, Gibbs got the coffees in and bought donuts too.  He reached into his pocket and drew out some doggy treats.  “All right to give Flo one of these?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” said Tony, “She hasn’t exactly got a weight problem at the moment.”

Gibbs nodded, thinking that Flo had a lot in common with her owner.

“What do _you_ do, Gibbs?” asked Tony, feeling guilty that he had seemed to be talking about himself all the time.

“I work for NCIS,” he said, “Used to be a field agent but I’ve just come back from an assignment in Europe.”

“Cool,” said Tony, “So you going to be based in DC?”

“Probably.”

“Field Agent?” there was a wistful edge to Tony’s voice.

Gibbs grimaced, “Probably not.  I’m more likely to be training newbies.”

“Why?  I mean, why not a field agent?”

Gibbs pointed to his knee, “My knee’s shot.  It’s good enough for most things but …”

“Not for running crooks down,” supplied Tony.  “Guess we’ve got more in common than our dogs liking each other.”

“You don’t know that yet,” said Gibbs sternly, “You said the doc’s hopeful.  You need to believe him.”

“Her,” corrected Tony.  “I guess.  But how do you feel about not being out in the field?”

“It sucks,” said Gibbs bluntly.

“Then why do it?”

“I’d rather be doing something … something still connected with catching the bad guys than sitting at home staring at the walls.  Training might not be what I signed up for, but I reckon I could do it … and like I said, what’s the alternative?”

“I guess,” said Tony bleakly.

XXXXXX

As the days went by, Gibbs, Tony, Flo and Nell continued to meet up.  Nell was growing fast while Flo was getting slower and slower.  Tony was getting stronger every day and more optimistic about a return to work – Gibbs was Gibbs, seemingly unchangeable.

“What did the vet say?” asked Gibbs as he sipped on the coffee which Tony had been able to bring to him.

Tony looked sadly at Flo.  She sensed him looking at her and woofed a tired woof.  Nell seemed to know that boisterous play was out of the question and simply lay down beside her protectively.  Tony cleared his throat,

“He said there’s nothing wrong with her apart from being very old.  She’s in no pain, just getting weaker.”

Gibbs nodded, there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

Next day, Gibbs and Nell waited half an hour longer than usual for Tony and Flo.  Gibbs was about to start Nell’s game of fetch when he saw Tony limping up towards them.  Nell barked in delight and ran to meet him but then barked in puzzlement when she saw that Tony was alone.  Tony stooped to pat Nell,

“Hello there, girl.  Good girl!”

He sat down next to Gibbs as Nell continued to dance around him barking.

“Quiet, Nell,” ordered Gibbs.  The puppy subsided and sat looking mournfully at Tony.  “Tony?” asked Gibbs.

“She died just after we got back from the park yesterday,” said Tony with a catch in his voice.  “She went to her basket, licked my hand … and then she went.”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” said Gibbs.

“It was a great way to go,” said Tony.  “She’d met up with her friends, had a great day and then just went to sleep.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier,” said Gibbs.  “She was a good dog.”

“Yes, she was,” said Tony.  His eyes were red, but he managed to keep talking, “And I know it’s for the best.  And I didn’t have to make a decision at all.  I guess she was considerate to the end.”

Nell whined and pushed her head into Tony’s hand, imploring him to stroke her.  Tony didn’t say much more, but simply smoothed the young dog’s head over and over.

XXXXXX

Tony continued to meet up with Gibbs and Nell each day at the park and would stay a little longer than before to join in the game of fetch.  One day, about a month after Flora’s death, Tony arrived without a crutch.

“No crutch,” observed Gibbs.

“Good observational skills, Agent Gibbs.  You really should pass those on to your new agents!”

Gibbs grinned back but didn’t rise to Tony’s teasing.  “I guess it’s a good sign?”

“Yes.  The Doctor was pleased.  Said I can go back to work next week.  Not full-time yet, and not back into the field but she says it should just be a matter of time.”

“Good,” said Gibbs.

“Yes,” said Tony, “I think I kept my cool when she told me … but I did kiss her and her nurse when I left.”

“She good looking?” asked Gibbs.

“Actually, very,” said Tony as if it had only just occurred to him.

“And the nurse?”

“I guess … although it would have been better if he’d shaved!”

Gibbs laughed.  He knew what it was like to be side-lined through injury and he could picture Tony’s relief at being told he would get better.

Tony laughed too but then sobered himself, “You know, Gibbs, I want to thank you.”

“What for?”

“Listening … not being judgemental.  I think I needed that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” protested Gibbs.

“I think you did … you knew I was worried, but you didn’t make me feel stupid about it.  And you gave me hope, made me see that life wouldn’t end if I couldn’t go back in the field.”

Gibbs shrugged, “You’d have got there in the end.”

“Maybe,” said Tony doubtfully.  “And thank you for making Flo’s last days happy.”

“What?”

“She loved being with you … and Nell.  At times, it was almost that she was young again herself.”

“That’s down to Nell,” said Gibbs.

“No …”

“Enough, Tony,” said Gibbs firmly.  “If you want to thank me, go and get me a coffee!”

“All right,” said Tony after a pause.  “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

When Tony returned with the coffee, they fell into a companionable silence until Gibbs spoke,

“So, you going to get another dog?”

Tony sighed, “I don’t know.  I’ve been thinking about it.  I miss Flo … but it feels kind of disloyal.  What do you think?”

“Flora was an understanding sort of dog.  And she loved you … I don’t think she’d mind.”

“A friend’s Labrador has just had pups.  She offered me one of the litter - I went along to have a look … but I don’t know.  They were cute … but I didn’t get one.”

Gibbs released a big breath, “Good,” he said, “’Cos you’ve already got a dog!”

“What?” demanded Tony, “What are you talking about, Gibbs?”

Gibbs pointed to Nell, “She’s yours!”

“Gibbs, I can’t take Nell!  She’s your dog.  It’s kind of you … but I couldn’t take her.”

“No,” said Gibbs firmly, “She’s yours!  Take her!”

“But …”

“Don’t argue, DiNozzo!” said Gibbs firmly.  “She’s always been your dog.”

“What?  I don’t understand.”

“Your Boss, Tobias …”

“You know Fornell?”

“Old buddy … we’ve known each other a long time.  He told me what was going on …”

“What?” said Tony faintly.

“That you were beat up but getting better.  And that he was worried about you … and so was the rest of your team …”

“I don’t believe this,” said Tony.

“They knew that Flo was coming to the end and they didn’t want you to be on your own … so they had a collection and bought Nell.  They thought you wouldn’t want another Lab – might have felt you were just replacing Flora, so they got a German Shepherd.”

“But …”

“Knew you wouldn’t be up to looking after a pup while you were on crutches … and wouldn’t want to while Flora was still around.”

“So, you agreed to look after her until I could?” said Tony.

“Yep.  Tobias said you’d probably walk with Flora in this park, so I came and waited for you.  We figured you could get used to Nell … and by the time you were ready for her, she’d have calmed down some.”

“And I’m guessing that Fornell thought some Gibbs wisdom wouldn’t go amiss either,” said Tony shrewdly.

“Don’t know about that,” said Gibbs.  “So, do you want her?”

“You sure?” asked Tony, beginning to hope that the Flo sized hole in his life might be filled a little by Nell.

“Never surer,” said Gibbs.  “Here,” and he held out her lead, “Got her toys and stuff in my truck outside the gate.  You can pick them up.”

“Thank you, Gibbs.  Come on, girl.  Let’s play fetch,” said Tony, looking happier than Gibbs had ever seen him.  “Hey,” he said to Gibbs in sudden worry, “We’ll still see you, won’t we?  Nell would miss you … and so would I.”

“Sure,” said Gibbs, “And if you ever need a dog sitter …”

“You’re on,” said Tony.  He held out his hand to Gibbs, “Thank you … again.”

“No problem,” said Gibbs, shaking the hand.

Tony gave a mock groan, “And I guess this means I’ll have to thank Fornell too!

Gibbs gave his characteristic shrug, “Never hurts to be on the right side of the Boss.”

Tony didn’t answer.  Gibbs noticed that he had the look on his face which meant that he was working something out.  Finally, he said thoughtfully,

“Nell … Nell …”

Nell sat down and looked at her new master adoringly.

“Nell,” repeated Tony.  “Gibbs, is _Nell_ short for _Fornell_?”

Gibbs shrugged.  Tony laughed.  Nell barked.

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

“Mr Gibbs, allow me to introduce Anthony DiNozzo …”

Gibbs stared at the youngish man standing in front of him; noted the slightly contemptuous look in his eyes and momentarily saw red.  He swung his right arm and hit DiNozzo squarely on the jaw.  The other man tumbled to the floor where he looked up at Gibbs in surprise but with the same look of contempt.

“Oh, my!” said Donald Mallard, “Oh, my!”

XXXXXX

EARLIER

Jethro Gibbs drove into Merton, a small town on the shore of Lake Erie in Pennsylvania, with mixed feelings.  Part of his discomfort derived from having obeyed a summons from a _lawyer_ while the other, and larger, part derived from a feeling of guilt at the cause of the summons.

Gibbs had received a letter from Donald Mallard who seemed to be the only lawyer working out of Merton.  The letter advised him that his second cousin, Barbara Jackson Steadman, had recently passed away. that he was a legatee in her will and that it would be helpful if he could come and see the lawyer.  There was no real urgency as the funeral had already taken place.  Gibbs had been astonished to get the letter as he had no knowledge of a second cousin: his father, Jackson Gibbs, had never mentioned having a cousin although Gibbs knew that there had been family feuds which might have caused a rift to have opened up.

Reading between the lines of the letter, Gibbs got the impression that Barbara Jackson had nobody to care that she had died, the funeral seemed to have been hastily arranged with, Gibbs thought gloomily, nobody to attend other than, possibly, the lawyer.

Merton reminded Gibbs of his own home town of Stillwater with a single main road seemingly providing all the facilities of the small settlement.  He noticed a café called _Babe’s Belle Barista_ and decided to check out how good coffee was in Merton.  The café had a certain sad atmosphere when he walked in with glum customers and a spotty teenager standing by the coffee machine.  Gibbs sighed: the prospects didn’t look good.

Gibbs ordered a large, black coffee and received a gloomy stare in response and … to his surprise … a few moments later, an excellent mug of strong black coffee.  Gibbs took a sip, gave an appreciative nod and dropped the change into the tips jar.

“Thanks,” said the teenager with continued gloom.

A warning “ _Tess_ ” sounded from the back and, in response, she managed a smile and a _Sir._

Gibbs nodded again and suppressed a grin at memories of his own teenaged reluctance to serve in Jackson’s general store.

“Where can I find Mr Mallard?” he asked, “You know, the lawyer.”

“Uh, down the street,” came the bored reply. Clearly _Tess_ couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t know such an obvious thing.

Gibbs took his coffee with him and went _down the street_ where he found Mallard _Attorney-at-Law_.  The door was open, but the front office was empty.

“Hey!” called Gibbs.

It wasn’t long before an elderly man bustled out with an enquiring look.

“Looking for Donald Mallard,” explained Gibbs.

“And you have found him,” came the cheery reply, “And you must be Jethro Gibbs?”

“How did you know?” asked Gibbs.

“Oh my, I’m not so busy that I can’t keep track of my clients.  And you came very punctually.  And you know, you have a look of Mrs Steadman.”

“No, I don’t know,” said Gibbs sternly, “I never met her.”

Mallard sighed, “Ah …”

“In fact,” said Gibbs, “I didn’t even know I had a second cousin.”

“So I understand,” said Mallard sadly.

“How do you know that?”

“Why don’t you come into my office and I’ll explain,” said Mallard, “Yes, yes bring your coffee with you.”

Gibbs stared at him in astonishment: it wouldn’t have occurred to him to abandon good coffee.  He held his peace, however, as he was not someone to use unnecessary words.

Once in the office, and sat behind his desk, Mallard picked up a bone china tea cup and took a sip,

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I have been in this country for 35 years, but I still enjoy a cup of tea.  You will have guessed that I am British … well, Scottish to be precise … although I am now a happy American citizen … but I’m still proud of my roots and indeed make many opportunities to return to my native soil …”

Gibbs coughed.  Mallard recognised that this was a signal to stop chatting and get down to business.  He directed a surprisingly hard stare at his visitor.

“In fact,” he said, “It was during one of those visits that Barbara … Mrs Steadman … sadly passed away.  Fortunately, she had made all the necessary arrangements … and I have to admit that her demise was not unexpected … so Anthony decided to go ahead and have the funeral.  He also arranged the clearing and packing up of the house …”

“Who’s this _Anthony_?” asked Gibbs.  “I didn’t think she had any relatives.”

“Oh dear, no … Anthony was simply a friend of Barbara’s.  He hasn’t been in Merton long, but he almost immediately became great friends with her.”

“Did he?” said Gibbs with a hint of disapproval.

“Indeed.”

“You said you knew I didn’t know about Mrs Steadman,” said Gibbs.  “How?”

“When Barbara decided it was time to set her affairs in order … as I would recommend everyone to do … it saves so much time and grief … she felt that she would like to make a will in favour of someone from her own family.  Barbara had a great sense of family, you see, and it was a great sorrow to her that she had none.”

“She was married, wasn’t she?”

“Indeed, she was but sadly her husband Andrew died 30 years ago.  They had a son … by coincidence, named Anthony, but he died in the Vietnam war.  Andrew was, I understand, an only child as was Barbara … so there was no real family.  When she came to see me, however, she said that she believed she had a cousin Jackson Gibbs …”

“My father …”

“Quite so … who lived in Pennsylvania.  We hired a private detective who tracked him down to Stillwater.  Alas, by that time, your father was deceased, but we learned that he had had a son.  Barbara was still determined to locate you and so the _PI_ continued work and found that you were living in Washington DC and working as an NCIS special agent.”

“Why didn’t she get in touch?” asked Gibbs.

“I don’t know.  I urged her to,” said Mallard, “But she was a gentle soul and couldn’t bear the thought that you might feel sorry for her or think that she was reaching out to you because she wanted your help.”

“And would she?” said Gibbs, “I mean, need my help?”

“She was certainly getting frail,” said Mallard, “But she managed.  She got great delight in finding out all about NCIS and I think she took pride in the thought that a member of her family was engaged in such sterling work.”

“Huh.”

“And then, of course, Anthony came,” said Mallard.

Gibbs took a thoughtful sip of his coffee and wondered what this _DiNozzo_ guy was up to.

“I have some papers for you,” said Mallard, “Bank statements and other financial documents which will give you an idea of Barbara’s assets although I should point out that there is not much cash.”

“Thanks,” said Gibbs.

“If you would like to study them overnight and then return tomorrow.  I will then read the will.”

“Why not do it now?” said Gibbs who saw the opportunity of a hasty return to DC.

“I fear that is impossible.  I need to read the will in front of all the legatees,” said Mallard.

“All the legatees?” asked Gibbs, “I didn’t think there was anyone else.”

“Dear me, I didn’t mean to give that impression.  There is another beneficiary of the will.”

“Who?”

“You will find out tomorrow.  I cannot divulge that information yet.”

Gibbs shrugged, “Do I have to accept the … whatever it is?”

“Does that mean you don’t want to receive your legacy?”

“It’s just that … well, I don’t need the money … and it seems kinda strange to get something from someone I didn’t even know existed,” said Gibbs awkwardly.

“I applaud your sentiments,” said Mallard warmly, “But I would advise against undue haste in these matters.  And I also say that it gave Barbara great pleasure to picture you receiving her bequest … and you could make a donation to a favourite charity?”

Gibbs nodded, strangely moved by the image of his long-lost cousin brooding over her will.

“OK,” he said, “What time tomorrow?”

“Will 2pm suit you?”

Gibbs nodded, grabbed his coffee cup and bundle of papers and set off to find a hotel.

XXXXXX

Almost out of nostalgia, Gibbs went into the general store and soon picked up the buzz of gossip.

“I’m not sure,” said an elderly woman, “Seems to me that she was almost swept away.  Funeral the day after she died and the whole house packed up within the week.  Almost as if she’d never existed …”

“That’s right,” said an older man, “Tony said it was for the best … but it all seemed fast to me … almost indecent, if you ask me …”

The shop owner spotted Gibbs at that moment and asked if he could help, the gossips stopped talking but Gibbs guessed they had just found a source of gossip.

Back at the hotel, Gibbs looked over the papers supplied by Mallard and soon spotted something odd.  The lawyer had been right to say that there wasn’t much cash but $100 went out of her account every week into an account in the name of Anthony DiNozzo.  It looked to Gibbs like $100 she could barely afford.  A picture of someone preying on a frail old lady grew clearer for Gibbs and he wished it was possible to get someone at NCIS to run a background check on this DiNozzo.  He wondered if anyone had done a check on what had been _packed up_ from her house and decided he would press Mallard about this.

XXXXXX

Gibbs arrived promptly at the lawyer’s office at 2pm the next day and was welcomed by Mallard.

“Excellent, you are on time again!  Please come through.”

Gibbs followed the attorney into his office and saw that someone was already there.

“This is the other beneficiary of Barbara’s will,” said Mallard, “Mr Gibbs, allow me to introduce Anthony DiNozzo …”

That was when Gibbs saw red … his suspicions about DiNozzo crystallised as he realised that he had managed to make Barbara include him in the will.  He watched DiNozzo fall to the ground and he clenched his fists in preparation for a follow-up.

Mallard was aghast and made to hold Gibbs back from a further attack.

“Don’t worry, Ducky,” said DiNozzo lazily, “I’m fine.  Shouldn’t be surprised, I guess.”

He got to his feet and directed the same contemptuous gaze at Gibbs as he had worn when they first met.

“Gentlemen!” said Mallard, “I must protest!  Some conduct is hardly becoming my office.  I beg you, show some decorum!”

“I’d apologise, Ducky,” said DiNozzo, “But I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.”

“Just swindle an old woman out of her savings,” snapped Gibbs, “And I’m guessing, stealing her property!”

DiNozzo’s jaw dropped open in surprise and he then gripped it ruefully, “Ow, must remember not to do that!  What the hell are you talking about, Gibbs?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me,” snarled Gibbs.

“So you’re outraged at the thought of someone taking advantage of Babe, but you couldn’t be bothered to come see her … but you come scurrying fast enough when you hear that she’s dead and that there might be something to pick over?” demanded DiNozzo fiercely and with continued contempt.

Gibbs clenched his fists again and took a step forward.  DiNozzo stood his ground but Mallard made to intervene.

“It seems to me that things have got off to a bad start,” he said with masterly understatement.  He turned to DiNozzo, “Anthony, I can assure you that Mr Gibbs was unaware of Barbara’s existence before I communicated to him the sad news of her demise and requested him to come and see me.  Furthermore, he indicated to me yesterday, that he had no wish to receive anything from her will.”

“Oh,” said DiNozzo.

Mallard turned to Gibbs, “And Mr Gibbs, I can assure _you_ that Anthony was a good friend to Barbara.  I should perhaps have gone over her financial affairs with you rather than leaving you to your own investigations … and I can also inform you that Anthony had no idea that he was a beneficiary of her will.”

“So you say,” said Gibbs in an unconvinced tone.

“Yes, so I say,” said Mallard sternly.  “Now, I suggest that you both repair to the café and resolve your differences … peacefully.  Then return here at 5pm for us to conclude this matter.  Am I clear?”

Gibbs was surprised to find himself nodding compliantly; for a moment, Mallard had sounded like his first Master Sergeant in the Marine Corps.

“Sorry, Ducky,” said DiNozzo.

“Apology accepted,” said Mallard graciously.  He looked expectantly at Gibbs but although Gibbs was cowed he wasn’t yet in a mood to apologise.

“So,” said Gibbs as they walked towards the café, “Why _Ducky?_ ”

DiNozzo rubbed his jaw again but turned to look at Gibbs in surprise, “What else would he be called?  Donald Mallard?  Of course he’s Ducky!”

“Oh,” said Gibbs.  “I guess.”

DiNozzo shook his head but didn’t say anything until they got to the café.

“Large black?” he asked Gibbs.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“It’s what you had yesterday.  I was out back giving Tess directions,” DiNozzo explained, “Although, truth to tell, I’d have guessed that’s what you’d drink.  Tess, I’ll have my usual.”

Tess nodded and, belatedly, remembered to smile.  “Shall I bring them over?” she asked.

“Good girl,” praised DiNozzo.  Tess blushed.

The two men sat in the window but, by tacit consent, stayed silent until the coffees were delivered.  Gibbs’ large black coffee and DiNozzo’s in a tall glass with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles,

“There you are, Tony,” she said.  She was about to go when she turned back and said, “Enjoy.”

_Tony_ grinned, “She’s coming on,” he said confidingly to Gibbs, “She makes great coffee … we just need to work on the customer relations.”

Gibbs tasted the coffee and had to agree that Tess made a mean drink.  “Tony?” he queried.

“Yes?”

“No, I mean, she called you Tony.”

“Oh, yes.  Ducky’s the only person who calls me Anthony.  It’s kinda nice but makes me feel I’m back in school.”

“Mallard said we should talk,” said Gibbs, “So get on with it.”

Tony looked momentarily mutinous but then said mildly enough, “He said _we_ not just me.”

“I haven’t got much to say,” said Gibbs, “And Mallard said most of it.  I don’t know what you’ve got to say.”

“OK.  I’m guessing talking’s not so much your thing,” said Tony shrewdly, “Tell me, did you really not know about Babe?”

“Babe?”

“Oh, that’s what I called her.  Short for Barbara.  Gave her a bit of a thrill.”

Gibbs took another sip of coffee to disguise his returning disapproval; to him _Babe_ didn’t sound an appropriate name for a woman in her late 80s.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t know anything about her.”

“Huh,” said Tony.  “Well, you missed a great person.  I came to Merton about seven months ago … and I was in a pretty bad place.  I’d been about to get married but … well, it fell through at the last minute.  I’d been living in New York, but I just wanted to get out, away from people.  The idea of living in a small town on Lake Erie sounded good to me.  I thought it would be uncomplicated,” he laughed, “Should’ve known that was wrong!”

Gibbs shrugged, “I like small towns … but life can be complicated anywhere,” he observed.

“I guess.  And I should have remembered all those movies about mayhem in small towns!”

Gibbs looked at him blankly and he continued, “Anyway, I ran into Babe … Barbara … almost immediately.  And we sort of clicked … both liked movies, both liked coffee … and I guess we were both alone.”

“Yeah?” said Gibbs discouragingly.

“Yes,” said Tony, “And I wasn’t after anything.  She was like the grandmother I’d never had, and I think I was like the grandson she never had.”

“I saw her bank statements,” said Gibbs, “$100 going out of her account into yours.  Every week.  Is that what grandsons do for their grandmothers?”

Tony winced, “Yeah, that looks bad.  If you looked further back, I put $10000 into her savings account.”

“Why?”

“She owned this café,” said Tony, “The coffee machine blew up and the whole place needed painting and some other jobs had to be done.  I loaned her the money to get it done.”

“I didn’t see any loan agreement,” said Gibbs.

“There wasn’t one.  Or nothing that would stand up in court.”

“You telling me that a couple of months after you met her, you loaned an elderly woman a large sum of money … with no agreement … with no guarantee you’d get it back?” asked Gibbs sceptically.

“Yes,” said Tony, “I told you … I liked her, I could afford it and I think that’s something a grandson would do for a grandmother.”

“Doesn’t explain the money going into your account,” said Gibbs.

“She insisted on repaying me,” said Tony.  “I had a word with the bank manager … he probably shouldn’t have told me … but he said that she could just about afford it.  And she had some stocks that she could sell if she needed to.  So, I decided to let her pay me … I would have made sure she didn’t go short.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  “And what about the house?  Mallard said you had the house packed up and cleared almost immediately … and had the funeral quick too.”

Tony shrugged, “It’s what she wanted.  She didn’t reckon much to funerals.  Said she wanted it quick and simple – so that’s what I did, followed her instructions.  But we’ve got a sort of memorial service for her next week which should be a blast!”

“And the house?”

“It was rented by the month.  Didn’t seem much point in keeping it on and paying rent.  So, I packed the house up – the stuff is in store, so you can look at it and see if there’s anything you want.  I didn’t steal anything.  And, anyway, the house wasn’t where her heart was.”

“Where was her heart?”

“Here,” said Tony gesturing to the café.  “She loved it here.  She loved the customers, knowing their stories, knowing what they wanted to drink.  She spent most of her time here.  And people loved coming here.”

“Yeah?” said Gibbs sceptically as he looked around the glum customers.

“Sure,” said Tony, “Things are a bit down at the moment but that’s because everyone’s sad about Babe, but things will pick up.  Tess’ll do good … and,” Tony leaned forward and said in a low tone, “Her coffee is better than Babe’s was … word will get around.”

Gibbs couldn’t deny that Tony was right about the coffee; he wondered if he could trust what else he said.

“Why not come around the back,” suggested Tony, “Babe had a sitting room there where she kept all her precious stuff.  You’ll get a better idea about her there.”

Gibbs followed Tony out the back where he saw Babe’s cosy room filled with pictures and mementos.

“That’s her husband,” said Tony pointing to the photos which had pride of place, “And her son.  You know, you look like her … or rather, you look like her son.”

“Anthony,” said Gibbs.

“Just coincidence,” said Tony.

“And that’s you,” said Gibbs pointing to another picture showing Tony and Barbara.

“Yes,” said Tony picking it up with a fond smile, “We won the pumpkin carving competition!”

Gibbs looked at the misshapen creation that Barbara and Tony were holding, and asked, “Were there any other entries?”

Tony looked at him in mock offence, “Yes, there were!  5-year-old Gracie was furious she didn’t win!”

Gibbs laughed.

“Ducky mentioned something about you working for NCIS?”

Gibbs nodded.

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“She kept a scrapbook of cutting about NCIS.  She wouldn’t tell me why, but she was always on the lookout for you being in the news.”

“Doesn’t happen often,” said Gibbs with a hint of bitterness, “FBI usually get the credit!”

“Gibbs,” said Tony seriously, “Babe was a wonderful woman.  And I promise you that I wasn’t after her money or anything else.  She was just kind to me and I wanted to be kind in return – she was the sort of person who just brought out the best in others.”

Gibbs gazed at Tony and decided that he was telling the truth, “I guess,” he said, “And I’m sorry I never knew her.  Thank you for being a friend to her,” he held out his hand to Tony who shook it.  Somehow Tony knew that was all the apology he would get.

XXXXXX

“So, what do you do in Merton?” asked Gibbs as they walked back to Ducky’s.

“I design and make jewellery,” said Tony, “Mostly silver and semi-precious stones … sometimes precious stones.  I sell some of my stuff to shops in New York and I do some commissions.  Means I have to go there every month or so … probably just as well, I mean, I like Merton, but I need bright lights sometimes.  What about you?  Oh no, of course, you’re a Fed.”

“Not any longer,” said Gibbs, “Mandatory retirement kicked me out.”

“Huh,” said Tony, “What you going to do?”

“Don’t know.  Trying not to think about it,” said Gibbs.

“Well, you were lucky today,” said Tony.

“How so?”

“We don’t have a sheriff at the moment.  Otherwise I could have reported you for assault!”

At that moment they arrived back at the lawyer’s office and were greeted by a somewhat anxious Ducky.

“Don’t worry, Ducky,” said Tony reassuringly, “We’ve made up.  You were right, talking was the thing to do.”

“Indeed,” said Ducky, “I have always found that talking is a much more fruitful exercise than resorting to fisticuffs.  Why I remember …”

Gibbs coughed his cough again.

“… but we should get to business,” said Ducky cheerfully.  “Do be seated.”  He waited until the two were sitting and then resumed, “I will give you both a copy of the will but I think for the sake of brevity,” he looked at Tony admonishingly when he laughed, “I will simply tell you the _gist_ of what Barbara has done,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Barbara directed that enough of her stocks be liquidated to enable repayment of Anthony’s loan to her,” he raised a hand to quell Tony’s objection.  “The balance of her assets are to be divided equally between the two of you.  Anthony, Barbara says in her will and I quote, _That you brought joy to my last years and made things possible that I thought were long lost.  That is why I wish you to share in what I have to leave._ ”  Tony swallowed at these words and nodded.  “And Gibbs,” resumed Ducky, “Barbara wished you to share in what she had, she says, _I wish I could have known you in person, Jethro.  I want to leave you a legacy in the hope that it somehow repairs the rifts that opened up between our families._ ”  Gibbs nodded in his turn.

“There are, however, some conditions to the legacy,” said Ducky.

“Conditions?” asked Tony and Gibbs.

“The café is left to you equally, but it is not to be sold unless you both agree.  You are free to dispose of the other assets left to you, but you must come to an agreement about the future of the café.  It was close to Barbara’s heart and she hoped that it would continue in some way to be an asset to the community.”

“I guess we can come to some sort of agreement about that,” said Gibbs brusquely.  “DiNozzo?  You seem to have some good ideas about it?”

“I am guessing that you would not want to run it yourself, Mr Gibbs?” asked Mallard tentatively.

Gibbs laughed in answer.

“No, I thought not,” said Ducky.  “Although I have observed that you are a keen coffee drinker, so it is not as unlikely as it might seem.”

“Don’t think it’s the coffee so much as the customers that might be the problem,” said Tony.

Gibbs’ eyes narrowed as he wondered how Tony had come to weigh him up so easily.

“And I don’t think that Barbara thought that would happen,” said Ducky, “Although I think she would like to think of you being part of the community.”

“I might come visit sometimes,” said Gibbs vaguely, “Seeing as I’ll have some investment in the place.  And I like to sail.  Used to like coming to Lake Erie when I was a kid … so, who knows …”

“Indeed,” said Ducky.  “In fact, I think Barbara had something else in mind …”

“Yeah?” asked Gibbs, who was beginning to be suspicious of both Tony and Ducky.  “What’s that?”

Tony suddenly hooted with laughter, “Of course!  It’s perfect!”

“What is?” asked Gibbs with even more suspicion.

“Sheriff of Merton!” said Tony, “You’ve just retired from NCIS.  You’d be an ideal candidate.  Not much crime here … apart from assaults in Ducky’s office … but enough to keep you interested.  You can keep an eye on the café … make sure Tess keeps learning … make sure I don’t run off with the takings … you can find out more about Babe … go sailing … It’d be great!”

Gibbs opened his mouth to pour scorn on the idea and then closed it as he began to think that perhaps it would be perfect after all … and if it wasn’t perfect, it would at least be interesting!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably not one for Gibbs fans. And it has spoilers for various episodes - especially Baltimore - as it is more like canon than the other stories have been.

 “What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“You know, when you first met Gibbs?” came the slightly breathless reply.

“Well,” I grinned, “I ran after him, brought him down and …”

“And?”

“And Gibbs punched me in the face!”

“And what did you do?”

“I pulled my weapon on him … and arrested him!” I replied.

The young probationary agent giggled nervously, unsure whether or not to believe me.  As I looked at him, I wondered if he was young or whether it was me who was old.  I sighed.

“And what happened next?” asked the Probie.

“Ah,” I thought, “What indeed?”

I remember, of course I do, when I first met Gibbs.  Sometimes I fantasize about what would have happened if I’d _accidentally_ shot him when I pulled my gun on him – would my life have been simpler or not?  To be truthful, and why not – I’m talking to myself here – the fantasies came up pretty frequently when I was working with Gibbs … annual review time, hauled out bed at 2am time, 16-hour day time: yeah, looking back on it, I imagined tightening my finger on that trigger a lot of times!

But I didn’t, of course.  I’m a highly trained federal officer … although at the time I was simply a highly trained Baltimore detective … and people like us don’t accidentally shoot people – unless we want to.  And at the time, I didn’t want to – and not just because the paperwork would have been a word beginning with b and ending with h (you get the idea).  _And_ at that time, I didn’t know that Gibbs was about to become something of a permanent feature in my life – he was just a fast running suspect and I don’t shoot people just because they annoy me.  Just as well, I’d have an impressive list of kills.  And, although I keep forgetting it, I’m _not_ a highly trained federal officer now so I _definitely_ don’t shoot people just because I don’t care for the way they dress or because they run faster than me.

So, I didn’t _accidentally_ shoot Gibbs which meant that I got the chance to know him … or did I?  To begin with, he seemed a relatively straightforward sort of guy – you know, straight-talking and straight-shooting although I don’t think there was much shooting going on when we first met.  Confident certainly, to the point of arrogance.  He didn’t seem to think much of LEOs – Law Enforcement Officers, in case there’s anyone listening in to my thoughts – and he made t _hat_ pretty clear.  Did what he wanted to do; only answered questions he wanted to answer and had this watchful look on his face all the time.

Making a list like that makes me wonder now why I was drawn to Gibbs – it’s another question what made him _want_ to draw me to him – but it’s partly because he seemed to _get_ me.  In some ways we probably looked like one another (not that my hair was grey like Gibbs) because I wasn’t into my clothes like I am now - I was a fan of Sears myself although I never let my own Probies know about my dark sartorial past.  Sorry, digressing again … anyway, in some ways Gibbs and I were similar in those days.  Perhaps that helped me trust Gibbs?  My partner Danny dressed smartly … and so did my father … yeah, I didn’t have a lot of trust for guys in designer suits.  But I don’t think that’s the reason; highly trained and excellent police detectives learn not to be fooled by what someone wears, and I tried not to be _seduced_ by Gibbs’ clothes.  No, he noticed things about me … knew I’d worked out something about Danny … and acted on it … came to back me up in case I needed it.

It had been a long time since someone had looked at me in such a way as to really _see_ me – maybe not since Coach at the military academy.  And Gibbs looked at me and saw something he thought was good; let me tell you – that’s even rarer in my experience.  And he didn’t judge me about leaving it alone about Danny … it all felt good.  Could have done without the head-slap though.

Looking back, I don’t mind telling you … and I’ve decided for the purpose of this … what … retrospection? … that you are there … and having to put with the wanderings, after all, I didn’t invite you in … that the way we met might have set the pattern for a lot of things in our _relationship_ (note to self, to think of another word for whatever Gibbs and I had.  Sorry, I’ll start again.  I think that me chasing Gibbs, shouting at him, bringing him down and drawing my gun was a lot like how the next fifteen years panned out.  I sometimes think I spent a hell of a lot of time chasing Gibbs and, occasionally, shouting at him.  Didn’t usually manage to bring him down and, as I covered before, I managed not to shoot him.  And he didn’t punch me again but there were a lot of head-slaps.

When I joined NCIS I knew already that Gibbs was a hard-ass; that he only spoke if it was absolutely necessary – guess that’s partly why he delivered head-slaps, they pretty much said everything he needed to say – and that he was good at his job.  I guess I should have been suspicious that he worked on his own, but it wouldn’t have mattered.  I was pretty sure that underneath the hard exterior was something not exactly warm and fuzzy, but full of integrity.

As you’ve barged your way into my psyche, you’ll know that I’m something of a movie buff … and that’s helped me in lots of ways.  My former team-mates could tell you I’ve got lots of breaks in cases from applying movies plots to crime solving.  In some ways, however, and I’ll trust you to keep this quiet, movie watching might not have been all good.  I’d watched too many movies where gruff, rough-diamond guy opens his heart to naïve young tenderfoot and, while I was no naïve young tenderfoot, I was a sucker for a happy ending … and a sucker for father-figure guy comes good.  And, as you’re poking around in my brain, you’ll know _why_ I’ve got the father-figure problem going on.

So, what I’m saying is that perhaps I expected too much from Gibbs.  I thought we might become friends as well as co-workers.  Actually, _co-worker_ is probably too optimistic … Gibbs always spoke about working as a team, but it was strictly as a team with one person very much in charge.  Don’t get me wrong, there were times when we hung out … when he opened his doors to me: but although he opened the doors of his house to me, he never opened the doors of his … soul … to me.  He helped me out when times were tough – saw me through the break-up with Wendy; made cowboy steaks when Senior turned up … but … well, he received my confidences but didn’t give me any of his in return.

Hell, I didn’t even know how old he was!  For someone who is definitely not vain, Gibbs is pretty secretive about stuff like that.  I mean, I’m vain but people know how old I am!

Of course, now I know that he was hiding the Mother Of All Secrets for the first years I knew him, and I guess that cut down the chances of getting closer to him.  We knew he’d been married multiple times, but personal conversations always ran the risk of dangerous topics coming up.  And so, it makes sense that he didn’t want to confide in me but what doesn’t make sense is why he felt he had to keep it a secret.  Don’t get me wrong, I know it must have been hellish … but why keep it a secret?  It was almost as if he was ashamed for people to know.  What he was worried about?  That we’d think less of him for having mourned the loss of two people dear to him?  That we’d judge him for having got married again?

I think, up to the point of us finding out about Gibbs’ first family, I’d thought that he and I got on well enough and we certainly worked together well in the field.  And I imagined that, given a few more years, we’d become more like friends.  I’d thought he was naturally reserved, maybe even a little shy – I didn’t think he was secretive.  Turns out he trusted his team in the field but didn’t trust them with anything personal.

But, of course, we did find out.  And in dramatic circumstances.  And perhaps, if he hadn’t _retired_ ; perhaps if I hadn’t got his job; perhaps if I hadn’t had to do Jenny’s secret assignment … perhaps we would have worked things out.  Perhaps, knowing more of his past would have helped us understand his present and we could have moved on.  But that’s an awful lot of perhapses (is that a word?) and it didn’t happen.

Perhaps … no, I’m not thinking of any other _perhapses_ , they don’t do any good.  I think somehow Gibbs decided he couldn’t rely on me as much as he did before, and I never quite got over him keeping Shannon and Kelly a secret.  We worked well together but the visits to his basement tailed off while I was on the La Grenouille case and never really picked up again.

And then it seemed that once the MOAS was out in the open, there were all sorts of other secrets in Gibbs’ life … what he and Mike Franks did, how Gibbs shot Pedro Hernandez … well, you get the drift.  I never doubted that Gibbs thought he had good reasons for what he did, that he acted on the side of right … but some of it didn’t sit right with me.  And thinking about it, perhaps that’s another reason he kept people at a distance – it was all right for _him_ to dance on a moral tightrope, but he didn’t want to drag others into a potential mess.

If Shannon and Kelly hadn’t been killed … or if they’d just died in an ordinary accident … would Gibbs have been the person I _thought_ he was when I met him in Baltimore - simply a rough diamond who didn’t bother about social niceties?  Did his whole life get twisted because of how they died … was that the trigger for all the other secrets?  I don’t know, but I think I stopped wanting to know. 

Once, I’d thought that getting to know Gibbs better would open up all sorts of positive things but, as time went by, I began to think I didn’t want to know what really made him tick.  I wanted to preserve my first impression of a passionate righter of wrongs, of someone who valued me and would always have my back.

“So,” repeated the Probie, “ _what happened next?”_

I pulled myself together and smiled my _rueful, self-deprecating_ smile, “I followed him for fifteen years!”

Probie smiled and went off to the throng of people who were drinking and eating their way through Gibbs’ retirement party spread.  I guessed that the story of how Gibbs and I had met was being told and retold even as I watched.

It was pure coincidence that I was there.  Tim had emailed to let me know that the Grim Reaper, in the form of HR, had finally decreed that Gibbs had to retire and that there was going to be a farewell party for him.  It so happened that I was visiting DC – Senior was having some problems with the management committee in his apartment building – and I agreed to come.  I’m not sure why … but Gibbs had been an important part of my life for so many years that it seemed fitting somehow.

As I watched the throng of people, I noticed Gibbs watching me: it felt very familiar … and as unnerving as it had always done in the past.  I raised my paper cup in salute and he nodded.

NCISNCIS

Didn’t expect DiNozzo to come.  He’s looking good … relaxed and at ease.  I’m guessing he’s here because of his father.  Tim lets slip sometimes when he’s in town and it’s usually because of Senior.  Don’t know what Senior did to deserve DiNozzo but I guess he’s always done what needs to be done.

I remember that day we met.  Good hard tackle and the punch didn’t throw him off.  Recognised the potential immediately and then the way he worked out why I was really there.  Still glad I brought him back, shouldn’t waste good.

Thought he’d be good and he was … but he saw things.  And I knew he’d work out things I didn’t want worked out … not at work, that was fine … but not personal things, that wasn’t on.  He’d press for more, but I didn’t have more to give – not then, not without letting him on the hurt that was at the core of me.  So things sort of got stuck.

Perhaps if I’d told him about my family … perhaps if it hadn’t come out the way it did … perhaps if I hadn’t upped and left … perhaps if Jenny hadn’t given him that damned assignment … perhaps it would have been different … perhaps he’d have taken the place of Mike Franks in my life … perhaps things would’ve been different?  Bah!  What was it Jackson used to say, _If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride_?  It didn’t happen; it didn’t work out like one of DiNozzo’s damned movies.  No happy ending for us.

Was a time I thought I knew everything there was to know about DiNozzo … but now?  Now, I don’t know.  There’s more to him than meets the eye … or perhaps it just that _I_ can’t see him so clearly now.  Wonder if I broke Rule 5 and _did_ waste good?

NCISNCIS

People in the room watched as Gibbs walked up to Tony.

“Tony.”

“Boss.”  Tony looked around, “Think they’re waiting for you to head-slap me into next week!”

“No,” said Gibbs.  “No head-slaps today.”

“So,” said Tony, “Retirement, eh?  What you gonna do?”

“I’ll figure something out,” said Gibbs.

“Don’t doubt that,” said Tony, “You always had a plan … a secret agenda.”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the bitterness in Tony’s voice, “I always trusted you, Tony.  You know that.”

“Sure,” said Tony with a smile that was probably his _rueful, self-deprecating_ smile, “I know.  Job always came first … there were just some casualties, that’s all.”

“I never meant you to be one of them, Tony.  I’m sorry if you were,” said Gibbs.

“Wow, breaking a rule,” said Tony, “You really must be retiring!”

“Reckon I’ve broken a few of them in my time,” said Gibbs.  “Perhaps if …”

“Hey, Gibbs,” interrupted Tony, “My grandmother used to say _If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride._   Don’t bother with regrets …”

Gibbs nodded, “But learn from them.”

“What have you learned from them?” asked Tony curiously.

“That it _is_ possible to learn from them … and it’s never too late to start again.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Tony.  He wondered what Gibbs was getting at but then, in a flashback to that first meeting in Baltimore, he realised he could still work out what Gibbs’ play was and that lines of communication were still open.  “Cowboy steaks tomorrow?” he asked.

“Door’s always open,” said Gibbs casually.


	28. Chapter 28

“Tony!  What are you doing, darling?” asked Mrs DiNozzo as her five-year-old son suddenly hid behind her legs.

For answer Tony pointed to the display of bears and then ducked back behind her.  His mother sighed, not for the first time, at the eccentricities of a young child and wondered what had happened this time.  She had expected that a visit to the largest toy shop in New York would produce wild excitement – and she had braced herself for that – but she hadn’t expected _timidity_ from her brave boy.

“Tony,” she asked gently as she turned around and bent down to speak to him, “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Tony put his arm around her neck, and with the other hand once again pointed to the bears.

“What about them, darling?”

“T-t-that one.  He’s scary,” said Tony.

“Oh.  What, that one on his own down there?”

Tony nodded.  He took his hand from her neck and clasped her hand firmly instead.

“Scary?” she asked.

Tony nodded again but Mrs DiNozzo noted that he didn’t seem to want to move on to get away from the _scary_ bear.  She looked more closely.

“Why do you think he’s scary?” she asked.

Tony tilted his head as he considered the question, “He looks cross,” he decided.

“Oh,” said his mother, “I think he looks determined.”

“What’s that?” asked Tony.

“It means … it means that he knows what he wants and will try very hard to get it.”  She saw that Tony still looked blank.  “You remember when you were learning to ride your bike?”  Tony’s face lit up and he nodded enthusiastically.  “You really wanted to learn, didn’t you?”  Tony nodded again.  “And you didn’t want to keep the training wheels on, did you?”

Tony shook his head, “No, they’re for _babies_!”

“Well, not always,” said his mother, “But you didn’t want them on your bike.  And when you were learning, you were determined.”

“Oh.  Did I look like that?” Tony asked.

Mrs DiNozzo looked at the bear that had caught her son’s attention and decided there was a likeness in the way that the bear was standing so upright with arms crossed to signal that it was not to be trifled with.  “Perhaps, a little bit,” she said.

Tony moved a little closer to the display although he still held his mother’s hand tight.  “What’s he wearing, Mommy?”

Mrs DiNozzo read the notice, “They’re bears dressed as soldiers,” she explained, “That one’s a Navy captain bear, that one is an Air Force pilot bear …”

“And what’s he?” asked Tony pointing once more at the grumpy … determined bear.

“He’s a Gunnery Sergeant bear,” said his mother, reading the notice.

“Oh.  Do you think he’s on his own because he’s a cross bear?”

“I don’t know, darling.  Come on, let’s go and look at the train sets,” she pulled on Tony’s arm, but he resisted her.

“Ah,” came the voice of a sales assistant, “It seems as if the little boy likes our soldier bears.  They’ve been very popular, you know.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs DiNozzo, “Come along, darling.”

Tony was wearing his _determined_ face, “Why’s he on his own?” he asked.  “Don’t the other bears like him?”

The sales assistant chuckled and thought about patting the child’s head before faltering before the _determined_ look.  “No, little boy, of course not …”  actually, Gerald the sales assistant wasn’t sure that was true.  Melissa had arranged the bears and she was a little sensitive to _atmosphere_ and she might have isolated the Gunnery Sergeant bear because he looked grumpier than the others and might want to be on his own.  “No, no … soldier bears know they have to like one another and get on well,” he said.

“Oh,” said Tony.

“Come along, Tony,” his mother tried again, “You said you wanted a train set … and you know that Daddy is looking forward to playing with it as well.”

Tony was clearly reluctant to move on.

Gerald spotted a sales opportunity, “It seems that your son has taken a liking to our Gunny Bear,” he said.

“Gummy Bear!” said Tony excitedly.

Gerald and Mrs DiNozzo laughed.  “No, darling … _gunny_ bear, it’s short for Gunnery Sergeant.”

Tony continued to stare at the bear and then said, “Could I have Gummy Bear?  Please, please, please.”

“But why?  I thought you were scared of him?”

“I am … kinda.  But if I’m scared of him then perhaps the …”

“The what?”

“The vampire on the top of my bed will be too,” whispered Tony.

Gerald looked askance at the mother and son.

“Tony,” said Mrs DiNozzo hastily as she bent down once more, “I didn’t think you were frightened of that any more.  You remember that we all looked in the canopy and there was nothing there?”

Tony fidgeted uneasily, “I know … but it might come back.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” said Mrs DiNozzo as she swept the hair out of his eyes, “You don’t need to be afraid of that …”

“I know,” said Tony unconvincingly.  His mother noticed that he hadn’t taken his eyes off the bear.

“All right,” she said, “We’ll take Gunnery Sergeant bear home with us,” and perhaps, she thought, it was time to redecorate her son’s bedroom.

Tony held the bear carefully as they walked to the checkout.  Mrs DiNozzo noticed that he didn’t hug him – it was clearly not going to be a _cuddly_ bear.

“Well, young man,” said the motherly woman sitting behind the till, “And what are you going to call this … fine … bear?”

Tony hadn’t thought of a name, “What’s his name, Mommy?” he asked.

Tony and his mother always enjoyed picking out names although some of them weren’t used much as, when in a rush, Tony tended to revert to _Teddy, Action Man_ or _Gorilla._

“Well,” she said, finding inspiration lacking for a stern bear.  Tony hadn’t got any _determined_ toys before.  “Well,” she said, “Perhaps we can use his initials.”

“What are they?  Is it those coloured things on his jacket?”

The motherly sales assistant laughed, “No, young man.  Those coloured things are where his medals would hang.”

“Medals?”

Mrs DiNozzo wished that five-year olds didn’t always want so much information, “They’re rewards for when people do brave things … or good things,” she explained.  “They’re made of metal and they each have a special ribbon.”

“Oh, so Gummy Bear is a brave bear?”

“I expect so.”

“So, what’s initials?”

“What _are_ initials?” corrected his mother.

“Don’t you know?” asked Tony disappointedly.

The sales assistant laughed again, “They’re the first letter of each of your names.  What’s your name, dear?”

Tony looked at his mother to check it was OK to share this information with a stranger.  She nodded permission and he said, “Anthony D DiNozzo.”

“Then your initials are ADD,” said the assistant.  “Oh,” she said.  “Oh.”

Tony didn’t pick up on the assistant’s unease and instead asked his mother, “So what are Gummy Bear’s init … ini … initials?”

“Well,” Tony’s mother decided to make the most of an educational opportunity.  “What does Gunny … I mean, Gummy, start with?”

Tony thought for a while, “G?”

“That’s right.  And what about Bear – what does that start with?”

“B!” said Tony triumphantly.

“That’s right.  His initials are GB.”

“GB?  I don’t want him to be GB.”

“No,” agreed his mother.  “But we could add some letters to make a name.”

“Huh?” asked Tony who was beginning to suspect that the shopping trip had changed into a school lesson.

“We could add an A.  What do you think G-A-B would spell?”

Tony thought hard, “Gab?”

“Well done, darling.  What about Gab for a name … or Gabby?”

“No,” said Tony, “Could we add an O?”  O was for some reason Tony’s favourite letter.

“That would be G-O-B,” said Mrs DiNozzo.

“Gob!” shouted Tony, “Or Gobby!”

His mother shuddered, “No, sweetheart.  We’re not calling him Gobby!”

Tony nodded discontentedly but it was agreed that each had a veto on the names they chose together.

“How about adding an I?” suggested the sales assistant who suspected this could go on all day and she had a queue building up.  She speeded things up still further by adding, “That would be G-I-B … you could call him Gibbs.”

Tony and his mother looked at each other in mutual accord and nodded happily.  Mrs DiNozzo smiled a grateful smile at the sales assistant and hoped that her husband wouldn’t be disappointed that he wasn’t going to be playing with a train set that evening.

XXXXXX

So, Gibbs the Gummy Bear went home with the DiNozzos.  He was placed as sentry on Tony’s night stand and the vampire never reappeared.

As Mrs DiNozzo had noted, Gibbs was never the toy that Tony took to bed for comfort, but he loved the bear in a different way.  Gibbs guarded the boy from his fears or helped him to deal with them.  Gibbs turned out to be a good listener and it was to him that Tony confided his sorrows when his mother died.

Gibbs travelled with Tony to the many boarding schools he attended.  It turned out that a grumpy bear was more acceptable to the other boys who somehow found that Gibbs’ stern stare stopped them from teasing Tony about bringing a cuddly toy to school.  At the military academy, Gibbs fitted right in and nobody ever queried why Tony had brought him.

Truth to tell, Tony wasn’t sure why he took Gibbs with him everywhere.  He knew it was stupid, but the _determined_ presence reassured him … and part of him remembered that Gibbs had seen off the vampire in his canopy.  And another part, the biggest part, remembered the day he and his Mom had bought Gibbs …

Gibbs even went to OSU with Tony where he became the mascot of the Alpha Chi Delta fraternity house.  He was kidnapped once by a rival fraternity but was returned almost immediately: Tony always claimed it was because the other students had been freaked out by that martial stare.

Tony continued to take Gibbs wherever he moved but, gradually, he tended to remain packed away in boxes or tucked away in closets.  A more confident Tony no longer needed something to frighten away the vampires – if one attacked him now, he’d simply shoot it!

And so, to NCIS where Tony teamed up with Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs who he had first met when he tackled the NCIS agent to the ground in Baltimore.  Gibbs the bear did not get unpacked.

And then, one day, the Major Case Response Team was called to investigate the killing of a Marine recruiting officer and it was decided that Gibbs should go undercover as a Marine Gunnery Sergeant.  When Tony walked into the squad room and saw Gibbs dressed in his uniform, standing erect and with his arms crossed, he blurted out,

“Gummy Bear!”

The head slap was swift and, Tony acknowledged, not unjustified.  He didn’t explain – how could he?  But that night, Tony went home and extracted Gibbs Gummy Bear from a packing case and placed him once more on his night stand.


End file.
